


That Infernal Machine

by dweller_of_roots (OldSleepy)



Series: Memoirs from the End of the World [1]
Category: Doom (Video Games), Killing Floor (Video Game), Quake (Video Game)
Genre: Adaptation, Apocalyptic Fiction, Biohorror, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Demon Sex, Divergent Narration, F/M, Gen, Lingering Dread, Mental Disintegration, Military Science Fiction, Moral Dilemmas, Multiple Fandoms, Novelization, Original Fiction at This Point, Overwhelming Odds, Pacifism, Science Fiction, Sex, Surreal Science Fiction, Unknowable Landscapes, Weird fiction, xenofiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:15:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 116,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldSleepy/pseuds/dweller_of_roots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world's ending, and of all those left alive, they had to send the pacifist.<br/>With no hope that his own actions matter, and the increasing strain of an alien world bearing down upon him, Gerald Copeman struggles to remain sane and do the right thing...<br/>Even when the very definition of what is right shifts, twists, and alters around him.<br/>Now includes musical ambience with every chapter.</p><p>An incredibly surreal novelization of id's Quake, and a whole lot more beside, intended to feel like a fever-dream after an FPS marathon in the dead of winter, with the The Thing playing on repeat in the distant background.</p><p>Expect amateur philosophy, ultra-violence, fanservice and horror, or probably just horror masked as fanservice.<br/>Updated after two years or so; I'll be editing and releasing an installment every <s>day</s> week or so, for some time to the future until the story wraps up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Infernal Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Above, the sky was a vivid red, and gentle.
> 
> Enough to warm a shattered heart, maybe. Something poetic like that.  
> But then you looked at it, actually looked at it, and realized that it burnt - that everything was burning.  
> The fires stretched on from the ground below, and you couldn't see anything but fire -
> 
> I already knew, then, we'd lost.  
> ~

["Tell us a little about yourself, Private."](http://electronic.ambient-mixer.com/server-room-white-noise)

I still remember the biting cold - that's actually the first thing I remember when I try to recollect that day. Shivering, my shirt off and feeling that I must have looked remarkably disappointing to the army of doctors, field care specialists and psychoanalysts hovering around me. I'd managed to crash my car on the way in avoiding some trouble, and I must have looked like death - if we're assuming death to be grim, dour, and poorly toned, which I guess is an unfair assumption. I've been questioning those a lot lately - assumptions, I mean.

"Not actually a Private, sir."

I muttered, trying to sound official and half-heartedly saluting. Were you supposed to salute in this kind of situation? Maybe, maybe not. I think the doctor asking the question at the time must have been a career soldier because she found the whole thing hilarious - soon the rest of the room was laughing, and I guess I started laughing, too. It seemed better then feeling nervous, and alone, and small.

"Uh, Gerald Copeman, sir. I work in electronics retail - so, you know, if anyone needs information on what to buy..."

Of course there wouldn't be much need for commerce now, especially not luxury goods.

There wouldn't be much need for anything at all.

"That'll be fine, Gerald. Well, you seem to be good to go - "

Some part of my brain had long since realized this check was entirely for show, and acknowledged the fact; though it was the same part of my brain that couldn't help but ask why I needed to stand around in this cold steel bunker, being prodded and poked at by personal who were just trying to keep their minds elsewhere. Another part of my brain entirely wondered if I might get something to eat or drink beforehand - a last meal, or failing that a last snack. Even a last juicebox would be familiar, and thus comforting. No dice.

" - So we'll have you clear for the transport device in an hour. Again, no food or drink, and you're officially a representative of the US Federal Defense Forces, so whatever you encounter in there, whatever actions you take - you're taking those on behalf of the United States government, and to a lesser extent our allies at home and abroad. I know this is all a little much to process, but we don't have time for anything more, so just nod if you understand."

I nodded, feeling as if that was all I could do. _I just want to talk. Is that so much? Just sit awhile and laugh with everyone else..!_ My brain screamed. I asked the doctor her name. But it was already too late, she was gone and everyone was gone and out of the crowd a man was moving towards me like a bullet, or more accurately the single-minded purpose I imagined a humanoid bullet would have.

"MARINE."

He stopped, eyes unfocused, hand outstretched.  
His breath reeked of cheap alcohol, and his face looked worse then mine. In his eyes I saw death, and defeat, and fear. There was no hope for me, no hope for this mission - we both knew it. I took his hand.

"Good to see you here. I'll be brief. The... We're sending two people out, one in the Kingsteen/Toivo device, and you. We have a shotgun for you, and an axe."

Neither of those sounded like standard issue military things. Wasn't the shotgun supposed to have a name, something cold and steel and reassuring? My brain tried to think of designations and manufacturers, but came up flat - it seemed that years of watching the television monitors in the store I worked at hadn't paid off.

The man - general? - was saying something, clapping me on the back. Despite the strength of the gesture, his hands were clammy and waxen.

"... Your country, your people, and the United States of America. We'll all be counting on you, marine. And if there isn't anything left and you come back - God help and watch over all of us."

He crossed himself, and I realized that he was weeping openly - which only made my question all the more awkward.

"Sir, I'm a Friend, sir."

"We're all friends in these dying hours, marine."

"No, sir. I'm a Quaker, sir."

We were walking to the device. I had dressed - been dressed? - in ridiculously impractical feeling armor, the ceramic plating feeling heavy and yet somehow too light. Of course, it had been scavenged during the Bellvue retreat, so...

"Society of Friends - we're a kind of pluricultural... I just - "

And in that wonderful moment, I felt myself drift into a sense of blissful acceptance of the fact I was going to die.

"I'd like that to be on my grave, sir. If it's possible to do a tombstone for me."

The general laughed, and coughed - he was still crying, and it looked almost comical. It was comical, so absurd it was funny. I laughed too, because who would put up a tombstone with the streets as they were?

"That is, that's real funny, marine. Hilarious. That's your callsign, now. All right? You're Quaker. All right? Great. Good. Well, we won't be seeing each other again - but I'm told that the radio unit you have with you should be able to make contact even Elsewhere. That's what they're calling it now - Elsewhere."

Leaning forward as if he was going to shake my hand again, the general's eyes crossed, and sobbing, he crumpled to the ground. I remember kneeling down, trying to find something comforting to say - and not being able to do much more but half-sit, half-stand in silence, while the general repeated that it wasn't anything but hell... We were all of us, going to hell.

My counterpart was a definite career soldier - I heard his boots before I saw him. He was frowning when saw the general, and that frown turned into amused disgust when he saw me.

"Copeman, was it?... Well, you better pull your weight. I'm not going quietly into the night. Hehe."

I didn't like his eyes. They were bloodshot, and he kept looking around the room as if something would jump out at him. Not something - one of us.

He played with the pistol at his side in a way that, frankly, made me a little uncomfortable, slipping it between his fingers with a hungry ease.

"You don't need more then this. Combat is about death, Copeman - us or them. You've survived so far, so there must be more to you then meets the eye, right..? Well. Maybe we'll see each other again. Maybe not. General."

With a curt nod to the still prone general, he stepped into the Kingsteen/Toivo device. I - he... I watched for some time, got to my feet and felt a little bit like, whatever happened I could do it. I didn't have a choice, so I might as well give it my all. I took a good solid look into the eyes of the man who without any regrets was heading into that great and unexplored Elsewhere.

And I watched as the Kingsteen/Toivo device shredded him atom by atom, his screaming echoing through the soundproof room until the lights had ceased flashing.

Then, as everything decompressed, a few staffers..?

Reserve?

Scavengers..?

A few people in hazard suits helped escort me in, bolt me down. I remember one of them trying to smile and say it wouldn't hurt a bit.

He lied.

And then -

Then I woke up to the sun.


	2. E1M1 - The Surface Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon embarking upon a journey, do you prefer to stay near your home, or leave as far as your limits can take you?  
> What is more important - the act of leaving, or returning?  
> ~

[The sun was blinding and blue, and reminded me of something I'd seen not so long ago in our own skies.](http://nature-other.ambient-mixer.com/mountain-meadow)

I suppose I could've gotten up and explored, but there was a gentle breeze as the grass around me gently swayed - and I was suddenly overcome by the selfish desire not to stray from my spot at all.  
So I didn't.

My eyes opened and shut groggily, and I realized I hadn't had any real sleep for days - the idea of taking a nap seemed pretty seductive, and I started to drift off.  
  
Everywhere around me, there were a million floral scents in the air, roses and azaleas and many more besides - sunflowers that rose up high enough to dwarf me and orchards in colors I had never seen before.  
The whole thing was calming and I just wanted to forget about everything.  
... And I probably would've if it hadn't been that I realized that the shadow obscuring me wasn't a small tree, but something else entirely.

"Is it particularly comfortable down there?"

She was leering at me down from where she stood, and she stood perhaps seven feet tall.  
My first instinct - relief that I had met another human - quickly turned into unnatural fear, and I had to fight the urge to reach for my gun.  
  
It felt ridiculous before my fingers had even left my side, and must have looked more ridiculous as I rolled around in the dirt and tried to look presentable.

As for herself, she had hair of green. Maybe it wasn't hair - maybe it was _lichen_ , or _moss_.  
It was messy and obviously self-cut, and it was clearly she did most, maybe all of the gardening down here herself - she was almost as muscular as she was tall.  
She was dressed somewhat plainly though, and I recall something else strange - perhaps about her eyes, or her expression. Whatever it was, the atmosphere before from had been permanently arguable.

Suddenly, I was aware of how quiet everything was, and unnatural. Only the swaying of the grass made any noise at all, and she had been watching me now for some moments without blinking.  
My lips were dry, and I managed to get to my feet.

"Uh, Copeman. Gerald Copeman. I guess I'm a Private in the Federal Defense Forces. And yes, it was very comfortable down there. I was contemplating taking a nap."

"A pleasant enough idea, though it doesn't answer how you arrived in my fields, nor why you are here. So tell me, Gerald. Why didn't you come in a group, like the others?"

"There were others?!"

She was circling me now - a bit like an overly tall shark. She had been smiling as she smoke - I don't think she stopped smiling. It was a very wide, gentle smile - the kind you see on any apex predator.

... I watched a lot of nature documentaries in my former place of work, so -

"Oh, yes. An entire complement of soldiers. They had no regards for the plants here, and seemed to be in a great hurry. I wasn't present at the time, but I hear tell they were fairly desperate to set up a base up ahead. If you hurry as well, I'm sure you can catch up to them."

Smile, smile. It was almost as wide as her face.

"Yeah, that does seem like it would be ideal, doesn't it..?"

And indeed, I suppose what I was supposed to do was run onwards, shotgun out and yelling a battle cry as I -  
  
What, as I trampled through some sort of arboretum?  
Hell, I'd just talk to the General - or whomever was listening, if anyone was listening. Tell 'em that I was going to take my time, do some recon.

She watched quietly as I took the radio unit from my side and spoke into it.

"This is Pvt. Copeman, come in."

Silence.

"Pvt. Copeman to control, over."

The unit was on and powered - there wasn't even static, just a quiet humming. No signal, no reply - nothing. I guess I was well and truly alone - besides the stranger, that it s.

"You do not seem particularly eager to catch up to your comrades. Is there any particular reason for that?"

"Not really. Wait, no - To be honest, I can't say I really am quite their level. I was drafted, ma'am. To be honest - I'm a little scared of meeting them, slowing them down. Besides..."

Besides. I couldn't shake this weird feeling that I ought to be exploring - that everything here was somehow more important than it seemed, and that just rushing forward was a good way to get killed, or miss something vital.  
  
It was a weird, gut feeling - but my mom always told me to trust my intuition, and she was psychic.

Laugh all you want, I'm not asking you to believe me.  
Besides, given the state of things...

So, we started walking - she strode very slowly, despite having a long gait.  
She wasn't careful to avoid flowers, despite the lack of anything other then a few dirt paths - she just moved with great care.  
  
I don't know how else to describe it, really...

It made me feel clumsy, all the more so with my shotgun hanging from my back and the axe and radio at my sides.

"Is that all they gave you?"

I could've asked who she meant by they, but honestly? I was beginning to wonder if maybe I hadn't arrived in Elsewhere.  
It was possible the device had sent me somewhere else entirely.  
Somewhere pleasant, and far away from the troubles.  
I...  
  
I Probably wouldn't have minded that much, to be honest.  
Speaking of honesty -

"Yeah. I think we were running out of supplies back at the base. It isn't even a base anymore - just a fortified underground garage. The greater metropolitan is still in our hands, but... I don't know. It could be that in the time it took for me to get here, everyone died."

She laughed and I finally placed it - she had a very care-free laugh.

"How tragic."

It was said without any emotional impact at all. If cruelty is the absence of kindness, it was a monstrously cruel laugh.

"Well, I suppose that means you'll probably be the last interloper here for awhile. What are you planning to do, Gerald Copeman? I don't suppose you are planning to... _Cope_ , with it?"

"I've heard that a lot, ma'am. Could I have your name?"

"And additionally, you don't seem to have the same demeanor as the rest of those brusque men and women. So, I wonder - are you perhaps not just the last choice they had, but the last chance they had?..."

"Your name, ma'am."

"Why don't you call me Sunny? It's a nice name, isn't it..?"

She smiled and it was indeed as bright as the sun -

That isn't, and wasn't her name, however.

"Fine. Sunny - I don't know what I'm supposed to 'do' and frankly... Frankly, I don't care. I didn't ask to be here, and I'll just do what I can."  
  
By now, it all seemed more or less beyond me, and beyond us.  
  
"I won't - I can't believe that the rest of the world simply stopped the moment I left, and if there is a chance there are some people back there I can help, then I'll try to help them."

"And yet you _still_ aren't eager to meet up with your fellows, and I wonder why..?"

"I'm a coward, they're heroes. They are armed, prepared, and ready to take a life. I'm not."

"And yet you are ready to die."

"Absolutely."

"That's different. Most people I know aren't, really. They say they are, but they fear it greatly. At the best, it frustrates them. Isn't that funny? That something like death could be scary or frustrating - "

"... Can't say I see it quite like that, Sunny. You must know some interesting people, though. So - do you handle the gardens out here by yourself, then? Get a lot of visitors?"

"Yes, and no. I prefer solitude, which is why I picked this spot. This month has been a deluge of activity though - people coming and going in droves, not caring one whit about the smaller lives around them..."

She clicked her tongue against her teeth, looking genuinely displeased - and yet still smiling. It was still more emotion than she had displayed when we were talking about the first squadron.

"Where is... Here, exactly? We've been calling it Elsewhere."

"No idea!"

She paused, hands held to the side of her head in the strangest shrug I'd ever seen.

"Sorry, that was a lie. But this is becoming a dull conversation. Let us discuss something else. Since you are planning on exploring this place, are you truly planning on do so, _ah_ , as you are?"

"Yes."

I nodded my head, wondering if my armor looked as ridiculous to her as it did to me.

" **You will die**."

Her voice was pleasant enough, but the fact was unshakeable.

"Like I said - I came to peace with that the moment the sky went red. There's no real reason to be concerned about me, if you are. I appreciate it but - "

She darted ahead of me, hair swaying as she frowned, looking somewhat angry - though only somewhat.

"No, I have no concern for you whatsoever. But it is strange, I think, and somewhat selfish to be thinking only of yourself in a time like this. Aren't you considered about anyone else you know, and how they might be concerned about you? Do you have no friends or family who you must be thinking of to give you strength? I would find you unimaginably horrible if you were alone in what must be a strange world, to your eyes, and had no one you thought of but yourself."

What a strange question - but it made me stop, which was lucky as we'd been walking towards a small creek and I probably would've just wandered into it if I'd kept going on autopilot.  
For a minute I wondered if Sunny was the type to push you into aforementioned small creeks, but she was bent down to the earth and clearing away weeds around a rather forlorn looking tulip.  
  
Not clearing away - transplanting.

Transplanting weeds.

"... Yeah, there are people I think about. Actually, I've been trying not to think about anyone. It's easier to keep moving if I don't think about what happened - I mean, I don't know anything."  
  
I threw my hands into the air, feeling oddly liberated by the expression of powerlessness.  
Maybe it was the warm sunlight - something I hadn't felt for some time.

"My dad - he was still at the hospital, so he's probably okay. I hear that they avoided most hospitals, making b-lines for bases and places of government. By now, hospitals might be a prime target if the rumors are true - meals on wheels and all that."

My turn to laugh a little, and I wasn't certain if Sunny was listening.  
It felt good to talk though. I waded into the creek myself, feeling my boots grow soggy from the warm water.  
It was foolish, and childish - and it felt nice.

"My brother and his boyfriend... Visiting Europe, not sure if things were better or worse there. I got a lot of letters from overseas before it happened in full, but they were all confiscated. My sister was going to college upstate - she was fine, at least before the phonelines went. Last thing she said was that they were planning on going into the library there, and hunkering down in it."

I wondered how long the food stores in a university'd last among scared, desperate people.  
... I didn't like the thought, and let it drift along the creekbed.

"And your mother?"

Sunny asked, having finished her impromptu plant-tending. Her fingers were covered with dirt - she wore no gloves - and she seemed inordinately proud of herself.

"She was called up before I was. They didn't get her, but she was in a different hospital then dad - a military one. I..."  
  
And the words hung in my throat. Got stuck there, just wouldn't form up.  
  
"... Honestly, I've got no clue what happened to her. We tried to find out - when dad was still at home, I mean - but... They just kept stonewalling us. She could be on the front again, still recovering, dead... I've given up knowing for now. I'll keep my optimism though - I need to keep it until... Until whatever happens, happens, and I have proof of it."

The water wasn't feeling as refreshing anymore. I stepped out of it, feeling the added weight in my socks.

"That's very brave of you. I respect you more because of it."

"What, getting into a river in full battle uniform?"

It was a weak joke, but she laughed all the same.

"No. Caring for others is strength - I would think of you as hopelessly weak if you didn't."

She paused, eyes narrowed. Slowly, her smile whittled itself away - not completely gone, but now less wide and more open - more toothy.  
  
I'd still compare it to some deep-sea animal with a hunger for blood, if asked.

"I'm afraid strength doesn't work like that, Sunny. It's all about who shoots first with the biggest, fastest gun."  
  
_And when the event had happened, humanity had turned to be holding a pocket peashooter with pretty pathetic aim._

"Oh? A very human answer. But when you live a bit, you find that the only things that matter is strength - and that the usual ways people have of expressing it are merely ways of hiding their own weaknesses. For example, if I were to kill you right here, it would be very droll. You would be dead and I would have no one to talk to. But by allowing you to live, I have someone to talk to and stave off boredom for another few minutes. Isn't that much stronger?"

I had never stopped being terrified, being wary.  
But - and perhaps this is ridiculous - it was about this point when I stopped being scared at all, and simply decided that if Sunny had been thinking about attacking me - if I'd been in any danger in those great gardens - I wasn't anymore.

"Perhaps. But in the end, if I attacked you or you attacked me, wouldn't it be some kind of violent strength that decided how things'd turn out?"

Sunny snorted, rolling her eyes.

"No. **You would die.** We already had this discussion, didn't we? Perhaps I am forgetting - ah, but never mind. You're thinking of this in the wrong way - say you are surrounded by hostile beings, in a hostile world. You are entirely alone, save for one of these beings which has decided you are amusing. You kill wave after wave of them, finding more ammunition and supplies the further you go. This might be fun, at first - glorious, even. Would you revel in the killing? Would each life you take make you a little happier? It's all right - I absolutely won't judge you."

Smile, smile.

"No."

Sunny's smile wavered, but only for a moment.

"Regardless. You would have to take lives to move forward, hundreds of them. And perhaps they would matter less, because they were the lives of others. But eventually even such mindless slaughter would grow boring - and you would resort to finding more and more elaborate ways of playing with your prey before snuffing them out, just to fight off the endless doldrums of being unkillable. At that point - would all the power you have be strength? Or, again - a way of covering your weaknesses?.."

We walked for some time, and the fields began to grow more fallow.  
  
Dirt had been tilled here, but not for paths or crops - it appeared Sunny was continuously expanding the fields down here, and it made me wonder just how long they were and how far we had walked - they had continued as far as the eye could see when I arrived, with rolling hills and the occasional grove or orchard.  
But up ahead, there was a wall - a solid wall - of slate-blue rock. Looking closely, it almost liked like the sky...

"You sound like you speak from experience, Sunny."

I had meant it as a joke, but Sunny nodded.

"Oh, absolutely. I'm dreadfully, horrifyingly bored - which is why I shall accompany you for a little bit. Either you shall die, and it shall be very disappointing and I shall mourn you greatly, or you shall live and we shall talk for awhile."

"Sounds fun."

The wall stared back at me, and my reflection back with it. I reached out my hand - it was cool to the touch, cooler even then the rapidly drying water in my boots. After only awhile, it actually grew uncomfortable to the fingers, so I removed my hand and stared at it cautiously.

[In the wall, there was a door](http://other-atmospheres.ambient-mixer.com/space-station---doom) \- one carved by judicious use of high explosives. The smell of stale gunpowder hung heavy and sulfurous in the air.   
  
Sunny was smiling.

"... So, is there where everyone went?"

"It is."

"Will we be going through?"

"We shall."

My fingers began to shake. The shotgun over my shoulders felt much heavier in my hands than it did slung there - and there was no light ahead.

The switch on the clip-on light requisitioned from my local electronics shop was hardly enough to see more then a few steps into the murky gloom.  
Sunny, whose eyes shone slightly, strode jauntily ahead of me - no longer moving with great care. She was whistling, and looking extremely pleased with herself.

Around us - the caverns stretched in every direction. The walls were not made of just the slate-blue (painted? and by whom?) rock we had seen earlier, but some kind of mechanical, or perhaps bio-mechanical material.  
Buttons and levers and switches all shone in myriad meaningless lights. I had half a mind to reach out and mess with them at random, but half seemed to be 'painted' onto the walls - useless beyond some sort of decoration.

Which raised the question of who would want a wall decoration shaped to look like a badly painted electrode or switch...

The forward group had definitely been here, as crates of ammunition - shotgun shells and a lot of rounds I wasn't familiar with, despite the best of my ability - were stocked one over the other.  
There were also spare shotguns - these were clearly the weapons of last resort in the mind of the rest of the squadron, I thought with a grim sense of self-awareness.

"Sunny, do you want one of these? For protection?"

Her laughter - raucous and extremely amused - was the only response.

"Fine. I'm going to leave them here, then."  
  
_In case someone else comes._  
Yeah.  
In case they send somebody else.

"Do as you will. By the by - I seem to have found an elevator."

"What..."

"Yes, a workable elevator! Hmn, but it only goes down half a floor - is that standard? I don't seem to recall elevators doing that. Maybe they've changed since last I've seen them - "

"No, what - who would build an elevator, here?"

"Perhaps someone who needs easy access to another floor? It seems somewhat obvious - "

"No! I mean... This is _Elsewhere._ Somehow I wasn't expecting... All this."

"Ah, but aren't you the ones being invaded? So it shouldn't really surprise you if your... ' _Elsewhere_ ' is at least as technologically developed as yourselves, no?"

"... Guess so. Does it look like it works?"

Sunny was having a lot of fun, having hit one of the control panels so hard that her fist was through the wall.  
I could hear the groaning of circuitry and the crackle of rocks being ground into something that sounded...  
  
Disturbingly fleshy.  
  
She turned to me, head tilted slightly to the side - then slowly withdrew her arm, holding chunks of masonry and circuitry, now only so much paste.

"Hmn, it seems someone just broke it."

"So it does."

...

...

...

Sighing, Sunny took one look at the elevator proper - which was made of a silvery material that reminded me most of platinum - and kicked the bottom out of it. It fell - perhaps half a floor, tops - down.

"Ah! But now the elevator is working! Problem solved. Are you not glad I am accompanying you?"

"Yes, very. I appreciate the help and the company."

"Hmph. You were supposed to say something sarcastic, or at least amusing."

Grumbling, Sunny stretched and walked into the darkness, fiddling with one of the painted on control panels.  
I ignored her for a moment, and stuck my head into the surprisingly light gap in the bottom of the now 'working' elevator. More of the slate blue rock was everywhere - no, this stuff looked to be like the sky above, as well.  
And I was wondering if perhaps we had been in one giant cavern earlier - a giant cavern that looked and felt like the skies of earth.

In front of us was a huge complex, looking for all the world like a military installation. Either the folks from whom were a lot faster then I imagine they were, or... Well, yeah. Someone had built one hell of a chokepoint.  
That's the word, right? Chokepoint?..  
You don't know, either, huh...

Opening my mouth to mention the discovery to Sunny, I was instead knocked to the ground by a dog perhaps three times my size, slabbering a grey and viscous goop from the toothless maw it had as it clawed at me with gummy legs.

Managing to wrestle it to the ground, I was knocked down the half-story drop by another dog, and another.  
They clawed at me ineffectually, doing little damage save for the disgustingness of their breath(?) and the fact that, up close, I realized they had no eyes nor any visible means of seeing - the same viscous goop leaking from where their eyes would normally be.

"Shoo! Go away! Leave!"

I suppose my first instinct should've been to shoot them or something, but I'm a bit of an animal lover. Always have been.  
They looked... Pitiful. Not angry.  
So I waved my hands and tried to sound like an authoritative dog owner, even though I'm more of a cat person.  
  
To my surprise, the dogs scattered. Feeling proud of myself, I got to my feet - and realized they had instead fled away from Sunny, who was looking very bemused.

"You should have killed them."

"Nah, they were harmless. Nuisances."

"Are you sure you just don't want to kill?"

I had a really good retort for that lined up, though it kind of left my head in the time since then and now - I didn't get to use it anyway, because Sunny was staring very intently at something beyond us. I turned to look at what she was looking at - in front of the complex, across a tiny bridge over an equally tiny river, several soldiers were staring at us.   
Smiling as wide as I could, I hefted the shotgun over my head, waved it around a bit.

Their response was a bullet that lodged in the wall behind me. I -

Fell to the ground, trying to protect myself.

At the time, I remember wondering why this was happening.  
  
Why things were attacking me.  
  
Why I'd been sent here, of all people. As a few more bullets whistled past, yet with remarkably poor aim - I managed to collect myself and get to my feet, even though I was trembling.  
  
Just in time for the show, as it turned out -

Sunny had bounded over the river, and grabbed one of the soldiers in her right hand.  
  
He was a foot off the ground.  
His head exploded.  
Like a grape, being popped by an extremely childish kid.  
  
Sunny was smiling more widely then ever.  
She was drenched in blood, his blood - there was blood everywhere.

The other guy - the other soldier, he didn't run. His eyes were vacant, they were all vacant.  
I guess they'd been brain-drained or something. Well, we found out more about that later, uh me and - but at the time I felt like maybe he was just in shock, like I was.  
  
He slowly hefted his shotgun to the sky - Sunny wasn't even looking at him.  
She just casually twisted the gun, curled it up - it made this sickening metal noise. Is it odd that I found that noise more horrifying than the sound his spine made?...  
  
There was one more though, and he was slightly more agile then the other two.

I could recognize by his helmet - half ruined - and badge that the man was a Sargent, at least.

"Sunny!"  
  
I yelled, and reached for my axe. It was a weapon of last resort, and yet I still couldn't bring myself to use the shotgun. Hefting it in my hands, I marveled at the weight of the tool - and then, with as much strength as I could, I threw it.

With anyone else, it would've been ridiculous to expect someone to catch a thrown axe.  
Sunny, however, did so with a mild and bemused grin.  
  
_"Aaah, what is this?"_  
  
Her expression seemed to say. She looked at it, tilting her head from side to side - then she tilted _it_ from side to side.  
Buckshot made a crunching metallic 'ting' as it lodged itself in the blade - and Sunny, sighing, cracked the haft over her knee, and throwing the haft, like a pilum.

The perfectly rounded stick lodged itself in the former Sargent's head. He fell to the ground, and didn't move anymore.

I think I was crying.

"Hmn, it appears those who came before you have probably moved too quickly. I suppose they should have been more careful, should they not?"

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I nodded.

"Y-yeah... Looks like it. Why - why did you help me?"

She stared at the citadel, as if trying to memorize the steel menace of it's exterior.

"No reason. There are some who think of me as cruel. I do not believe I am, any more so than anyone else. You would have done the same for me, would you not?"

"Yeah. I... I tried, but..."

"I wouldn't feel guilt for not being able to kill an ally so easily. I'd feel more guilt if you had been able to run in and massacre this place without me. On that note... It will likely be more dangerous inside. Are you prepared?"

I closed my eyes. I tried to remember the faces of my family, my friends, anyone. I couldn't. I was scared.

"... Yeah. Let's go."

The doors slid open with a metallic hiss...


	3. E1M2 - _______, Egalite, Fraternite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Longevity, they said, was a sign of the new economic freedom.  
> We would all be free, as our parents were - and with an eternity before us, this new freedom would last until the stars burned out. 
> 
> It turns out it was a sign of the new economic freedom, all right. I never thought I would see others grow so cruel.
> 
> And in that moment, I decided I would sacrifice a million freedoms to preserve the rights of those unable to die, yet shackled to the will of another.  
> ~

[To describe the images I saw alone would do them injustice.](http://other-atmospheres.ambient-mixer.com/dungeon-ambience)

Body upon body stood motionless and sprawled in the entrance hall.  
Where there was no room to run, they had been stacked upon one another - where room had run out, electrical wire and supplies meant to build relay stations, turrets - I don't know what, but all of that equipment had found a new use.

Sunny seemed nonplussed.  
  
Me, I had already wept so much that try as I might, no more tears would come.

"So the vaunted strength of humanity fails so soon. Tragic, really."

It occurred to me that she was stepping over the corpses of people who might well have been my allies if I'd arrived a moment sooner. And I wanted to yell at her, but - to go further, I'd have to as well.  
Swallowing the bile I felt burgeoning in the back of my throat, I followed her, watching the walls as they watched as back.  
The half-operational systems monitoring equipment here wasn't painted on or fake, and some of it might even have been useful.

But it had grown strange and organic, red fleshy pustules tethering together two screens like some kind of biotic duct tape.  
Some monitors displayed fine, though their feed was blank; others showed blue screens and static like a crisp winter morning, while still others showed heat/time signatures that didn't seem to match up at all.

I reckoned it was probably a bad idea to investigate them further, and for once didn't feel some kind of inner pull telling me to go back and check.

What had slaughtered the base was unapparent, almost as unapparent as why our folks had brought so many dogs with them - and for that matter, what had happened to the dogs.  
I kept up a running tally as we walked, and the most I could think of as that every other soldier present had really loved animals. It seemed somewhat laughable, so I tried voicing it as a joke.

Sunny, who wasn't smiling, didn't react.

"I said that, you know... I don't remember what I said."

"... This wasn't supposed to happen."

"What?"

My awareness kicked into full gear, adrenaline and nerves colliding into one another.  
We'd been rounding what seemed to be an escher-like series of ramps that fed into one another nearly endlessly before crossing over a man-made marsh of chemicals and toxins.  
The smell of bleach and lilac, tapwater and iridium hung heavy in the air.

"Someone meant to lure your fellows, here. And someone who I do not know. **This is troubling to me**. It is more troubling that your fellows are dead - I do not like it, so I must apologize for not responding earlier. This has caused me to re-evaluate what has been happening here..."

It seemed almost like she was talking to herself, and perhaps she was, primarily.  
But at the same time - it seemed almost like she was being more understanding despite all the outward signs of emotion having vanished from her face. I was curious to know what she meant, but figured that as long as we were allies - whether through mere boredom on her part, or some investigation she felt she must complete - we could share information.

"Actually, I've started picking up comm signals again. From this."  
  
I tapped the radio at my side before continuing.  
Sunny had cast a sideways glance at me to show she was listening - but was still deep in thought herself.  
Bubbles in the air smelled like soap and tar as we entered into a darkened chamber, perhaps fifty feet wide...

"I'm hesitant to contact with just bad news, especially given that this troubles you as well. But I figure that if something was blocking it earlier - whatever was either left, or weakened at some point. Could it be that it had tried to get through the forward base here, and got wounded by the squadron?"

I wanted to believe they had died fighting. I wanted to believe that, but the unspent ammunition, pristine in boxes, said otherwise.

"... Not impossible. Nevertheless, I - "

Slowly, the rhythmic drone of electricity flooded into being around us - floodlights, set across the walls, focused forward.  
And in their pale light we saw the death of the first and last citadel of humanity in Elsewhere, and what had caused it's demise.

At the end of the previously dark room, now revealed to be a storage area, a castle _encroached_ forward.  
Masonry ate into steel, foreboding faux-gothic architecture rose above into the fake-sky rocks that created the illusion of freedom above, and huge gates of some sinister grey material that smelled faintly of caramelized wine towered in front of us.

The doors opened, and before us strode a procession.  
In front rode a great beast, towering even over Sunny - it was hunched over and bald, hairless and vacant-eyed.  
Another one strode beside it, and together they seemed to cower inside the antechamber, almost afraid to spread out their four limbs for fear of hitting the walls.  
  
They were, had been, without a doubt - humans.

But humans unlike any I had seen.  
  
Humans stretched, and grown weird, and bred to be like horses.  
Humans that had never seen the sun, or had the sun taken from them.  
And behind them they dragged a great sledge, and upon that sledge rode a man, pale and diseased, dressed entirely in red.  
What manner of clothes he wore, I could not say - but they reminded me of ashes, and fire, and chains.

"Greetings, noble souls. I am the Manumitter, and you intrude into my domain. You - "

A crooked finger, short and stubby yet with immaculately groomed nail, scythed through the air towards Sunny.

"You, I am familiar with. You, however - you are new to my servants. The dead tell me that you are one of them. I am finished liberating these unfortunate slaves to the will of our enemies. What say you that I should not do the same to you?"

Sunny was giving me a look telling me to kill him. Her eyes held no hatred or malice - merely a simple belief that the man - or man-like creature - in front of us was an enemy, or vermin of some kind, and to be dealt with.

"Gerald Copeman, Manumitter. You have no quarrel with me or my friend here - "

" **I speak for myself** , and I do have quarrel with you, Manumitter. But we shall settle it later, and the settlement will result in your **freedom**. Continue, Gerald."

Sunny smiled brightly as she spoke and I began to wonder if smiling, to her, was a sign of displeasure or aggression.  
I had heard tell that humans had evolved from a kind of ape that showed their teeth to indicate either a challenge, or a laying down of arms - or both. My mind is a bit fuzzy on it...  
To me, Sunny's teeth seemed like weapons. I couldn't see the eyes of the Manumitter under the eyeless and lidless hood he wore - but if he felt no fear at all, he was overconfident by half.

"Right, well. You've got no quarrel with me. I'm here to find the truth, and I intend to do so. If you choose to bar my way, we'll be enemies, but -"

"So you threaten me..?"

His voice low and dangerous, the Manumitter frowned.

" _No_! I don't threaten you! I'm saying we don't have to fight at all! I want _answers_ , and figure that you seem to know more than either Sunny or myself."

"Sunny, now, is it?.."

This seemed to amuse the Manumitter greatly, and his parchment-like lips creased into open laughter.

"Yeah. So can't we call a truce or something?... If you value freedom, certainly you'd allow me to speak a few words, hollow or no, before our differences in opinion came to a head?"

"... That is sufficient. Yes. We may discuss... We may trade words. Come, then."

Demounting - or perhaps falling, or crumbling - off of his steeds, which let out a fearsome roar of terror and bolted the reverse of where they come from, the Manumitter bid us enter - then vanished in an afterglow of pale red light.

Sunny looked very unimpressed.

"Is it not ironic, the names we choose and the names we are given... Ah. I commend you for your thinking there, though wouldn't it have been just as useful to kill the wretch?"

"No. As much as I want to - I don't think I could, even if I _could_. I don't think I'm cut out for all this killing - and if seeing this guy isn't going to change that, nothing will. But I might just be able to find out what's been going on here. We had reports of - people coming back wrong, you know. Sort of like what happened with the fallen outside, earlier. I mean - I'm basing this off hearsay, I never saw any myself..."

The interior of the castle was as luxuriant as you might expect. Pale mahogany (or something like a more pale mahogany) made up the floors, every step over an intricate tapestry of images depicting battles and triumphs.  
And the air was stale, even more so then the citadel - but the organic pustules and growths we had seen outside were completely absent, as was any of the strange interference that seemed to affect equipment earlier.  
  
So either the Manumitter had let his guard down - or he wasn't responsible. _For that, at least._

"Peculiar. Tell me. If locusts attacked a wheat field, and this wheat called out to you in its suffering - would you not sacrifice the locusts to save the wheat?"

"Uh, I guess, though I wouldn't weigh the one against the other. What if the locusts turn out to be vital to wheat somehow, or, or - I dunno. I'm not an expert in either locusts or wheat here, but... Why should it be my choice to call? Why do I need to sacrifice either? Wait, where is this question going?"

"Nowhere, I was just curious. We must agree to dissent against one another, but I think it is a good dissension."

Seemingly pleased with the answer, Sunny strode on and I ran to keep up.  
When she wanted to, she could move very quickly - and to be honest, I didn't want to stay in the dark hallways by my lonesome.

The greatest hall was some sort of communal feasting area - I felt like it had been modeled after medieval Eurasian banquet-halls, by someone who'd only vaguely heard of them.  
And there were vast feeding troughs everywhere, but nothing.  
No animals, no humans, not even the mutilated human-beasts. There was a center table, but no dishes nor utensils - several tableclothes were piled on top of each other, some of them looking surprisingly modern. The Manumitter sat at the far end, but had no plate nor food. He seemed to be asleep, and from his snoring a thin peal of ash drifted into the air - becoming yet more dust in the empty rooms.

Sunny kicked the table over.

"... Yes? I was... Oh. You have arrived. We will talk, now."

The Manumitter did not seem to note or care that his table had split in half, nor did Sunny seem to have intended it as any great insult.  
A drifting unease crept into my mind, but they didn't seem to know each other too well - and certainly not as allies.  
  
_I'd have to ask her about him later,_ I told myself - stacking it against a list of questions that seemed to grow and never diminish.  
On top of that - the dust and empty table reminded me that I hadn't eaten in prep for the device, and that my gut felt as tight against my stomach as bone.

"Yessir, Manumitter. To start with - "  
  
Sunny interrupted before I could even decide on what I even wanted to ask, first.

"Why do you not tell us why and how your domain expanded into this construction? The creatures within were exploring, and meant no immediate harm."

It might not have been very important, but I liked the word choice there. It was certainly lost on the Manumitter.

"They were intruders to my fiefdom.... I annexed their domain to mine. My barons slew them. My knights slew them. I took their hounds as prize. I took their land as prize. Then I freed them, and took them as prize. Such is the way of the land. I had not known they were close until some great magic broke my castle walls. I felt it then..."

His fists tightening like claws of greyed ivory, the Manumitter hissed.

"Fear. That the great mistakes of the past would be repeated and were being repeated. In the interest of protection of my self and my property I defended the realm. I would defend all realms. But the threat is gone and the evil is gone - there is no more need for my barons, my knights. The realm is at peace, once more."

" **How very noble of you**. Are you sure the evil is gone, however..?"

"Why did you need to kill them all, and what great mistakes were you afraid of repeating?"

I cut Sunny and her dangerous smile off before the Manumitter found the realm and himself to be at a peace his subjects were already terminally familiar with.

"... Mmn. I did not kill them. They were freed, from the serfdom of flesh and into the freedom of spirit. They have lost their sense of collective, their tie to the universal meat, and become more true and more individual. They are no longer here - they are beyond me. Yet in return I have taken their former cages and made of them plowshares."

My head was beginning to ache.

"And the mistakes..?"

"Unthinkable. Unescapable... Undeniable..! Undeniable..! Undeniable!! UNDENIABLE!"

Spittle flying from his mouth, the Manumitter rose - from far across the overturned table, he gestured to the air wildly, as if the air had caused him some grave offense.

"Your house is broken, and you come to this house, for this rune!? You come to take it, to become shackled to each other instead of shackled to yourself?! Know your place! Know that your place is to be free, and yours to return to sleep."

The latter was spat at Sunny, who simply nodded.

"I do prefer sleep - "  
  
Her voice quiet, she began to walk towards the still-sputtering Manumitter.  
  
"- **and I have been awake too long**. I shall sleep soundly when your prattling is silenced."

And then -

Then, the Manumitter did the only sensible thing.

Screaming in terror, he fled, stumbling over his robes and flailing his arms as if to fly through the vast and empty castle-caverns.

Halfway through his running his body shone like embers - then disappeared. Sunny snorted.

"Annoying, that. Still - he was right. I think I shall take a nap. I have the best dreams after a productive day..."

"Wait, here? What, but I - I've still got places to go, and there - "

"Worry not, Copeman. Our paths will cross again, when I feel like it. This Manumitter will not trouble you for some time, and most importantly of all - **I cannot follow you**."

Once again, Sunny smiled. This time however - there was something beneath it that suggested sadness, and frustration.  
I remembered being little, and being told that I was too young to help clean up the adults clean up after a relay race, or pick up trash on Earth Day.

... Well, it was the first thing that came to mind, I didn't say it was the most accurate! Er, but you see, Earth Day was pretty important in our house, growing up. It involved - well, that's a long way back.  
Unimportant stuff, I can hardly think of it, right now. I was drawing on it to say that Sunny, though, her expression, it felt - more...  
Trapped, I guess?

"What do you mean, exactly? Why can't you follow me?"

"There is a construction, there."

She pointed - to the spitting image of the Kingsteen/Toivo device.  
  
Give or take a few hundred years of disrepair...

"It is, perhaps - it doesn't work the same way for me. Alas, I would follow you for the foolish decisions you make alone. But I think you'll find help wherever you go. Or die! But **I do not think you'll die** , and my hunches are quite accurate, or so I have been told. So I wish you well, and assure you that we will meet again. Now I must rest. This place is mine now, and I will make it a much nicer place. Your people will find rest here, and I will make sure in their honor, beautiful flowers grow."

My hand shot up, like I was in school, and I half-asked two questions at once - what she meant by that, and why she felt so certain. Maybe I was also going to offer my thanks and so long in case I died embarrassingly - just in case, ya know?

But Sunny - in her manner - had pushed me straight into the device, and a familiar painless pain engulfed my senses once again...


	4. E1M3 - Dead Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I prefer games, myself. 
> 
> So much that I make everything a game!  
> Way I see it, the best way to keep yourself sane is say, "I'm not killing a hundred people, I'm hitting a thousand targets!"  
> And boom, there you go. Not only have you taken away the pain you might feel from looking at it more irrationally, you've rewarded yourself a little, given yourself something to go for!
> 
> ... Besides, and I mean this in all seriousness, Private - what exactly is there left to do? A year and a half, and we haven't even manged to clear out West London...  
> ~

Have you ever been on the Kingsteen/Toivo device?  
  
Sorry, stupid question - it's like having every tiny follicle of your body twisted inside out and put inside a different follicle, then spun around for fun.  
The thing is - it doesn't really hurt, not really. It makes you _think_ you're hurting, and that's where the pain comes from. After you take enough rides, you...  
Well, it never stops twisting you, but you land a bit better.  
On your feet, kind of.

I wasn't at that point just yet, and crashlanded straight into some green rock outcropping.  
And I couldn't tell if the rock was green because it was heavy in copper, or because it was absolutely soaked with what charitably smelled like mildew.  
My face was on my ground and making a great attempt to meld itself into the rock - but I seemed to be otherwise unharmed.

Minus the fact that I was once again alone, and of all things - my radio had gone silent the moment I could talk without interruption...  
  
[Or paranoia.](http://caves.ambient-mixer.com/through-the-crypt-caves)

"It's shit, isn't it?"

A melancholic, slightly bitter voice asked.

"Yeah, completely shit."  
  
I agreed, without thinking too much about it.

Snapping my head back - and feeling the pain as I did so - I beheld a man, easily ten or twenty years my senior.  
His uniform looked older - more careworn, more broken in - and a pin helpfully informed me he was ENGLISH!. I wondered if the exclamation point was truly necessary, but decided to keep that to myself.

He was also sitting calmly over a mutilated thing that seemed to have scythe-blades for arms - simply staring at it with an unreadable expression.

"Masterson, Lieutentant. British Army, radio attache for the Investigation into the Antarctic Phenomona before we lost all contact with the teams in place there. And by the pin you wear, another Yankee. Brilliant. I suppose you've been sent here as a last resort, yourself..?"

"Yeah, uh, Gerald Copeman, Sir. Private. Conscript, I guess - America's pretty much gone. It's just me."

"Christ, hold up a minute. Did they really just give you a shotgun as a piece? I thought a bit better of you all, suppose that's what I get for getting my opinion from movies... No rations, though?"

My stomach growled once again - painfully, this time. I gritted my teeth and tried to laugh.

"No problem, got you covered there. If you'll stay and talk a bit, I'll get a fire going, and you can even heat up the tomato soup."

True to his word, Masterson swiftly set up a fire with military precision - the kind I'd hoped I'd get automatically the moment I was drafted into this expedition.  
I'd been eying over the plastic-wrapped gift from providence Masterson had held; all of it likely inedible in the long term, but for now looking as if it had been crafted of the finest carbohydrates that humanity had ever beheld.

"How'd you get past the blob? Never mind that, has it sunk in yet?"

"Mmph."

I answered affirmatively while Masterson prodded the corpse in front of him idly, watching sparks and fire devour its strangely long-burning flesh.

"Blob - no wait, actually, I've got one for you. You mentioned another American?"

"Yeah. Looked like a real fighter, similarly crap loadout as you. I figure he was doomed the moment he stepped foot in here though - had that devil-may-care attitude that attracts _them_. And despite the fact that he thought he got it, he didn't. Not really."

"What do you mean, got it?"

Masterson chuckled, a bit like I imagined a kindly old uncle who just given some extra spending money to a favored nephew might.

"Nothing much. I'll let you figure it out when you do - it's more fun that way. Sides - it's good enough to see a face that isn't fuck-ugly. I've been counting them, you know - we'd had a lot of the incidents of corpses and the like coming back up, mostly in smaller towns and zones - and each and every one has a face as ugly as dried puke. S' a shame, really."

Pointing down through the solid rock, Masterson gave me a mischievous wink.

"There's a switch that makes an elevator-platform take you down. I've got a few chained up, if you need some target practice. Damn things can't hurt you much anyway."

"Uh... Thanks."  
  
I replied as diplomatically as I could, taking note of how absolutely delighted Masterson seemed to be with the prospect of shooting what looked - for all intents and purposes - like extremely decayed humans.

"No problem. Figure as 'saviors of humanity' we're all allowed to have a little laugh now and again!.. A bit more than that, actually. So, Copeman. They tell you much about this when they pressganged you?"

"Only that there wasn't much other choice."

"Right. That was a lie."

"Y- What?"

"Mmn. Turns out we had the option of sending nukes through the device, and people just didn't want to try it for whatever reason. Probably some scientist or another, bleeding-heart types. I'm not naming names, but there a few people I'd guess right off the bat... We tried it later, of course. By then though, whatever else is lurking in this shithole had prepared for it. Maybe the bioweapons we launched first got 'em prepared... Damned if I know."

I realize how disgusting it must have seemed to be shoveling the lukewarm soup from the can into my mouth - but I had never seen one of these before, and was too hungry to find the miniature ladle/can-opener thing they included. Having been through the Kingsteen/Toivo device himself, Masterson didn't judge me at all, at least visibly. The reason they keep you food-deprived is - well it's more pleasant not to discuss it.

"... Well, I'm not giving up hope just yet. Not everything here is out to kill you, and the things that are aren't immortal. Human know-how and human ingenuity haven't failed yet. I figure I'm pretty much dead if I try, dead if I don't - so I have nothing to lose by trying."

Hoping to sound more confident then I felt, I offered Masterson a grin that he did not return.

"Awfully optimistic of you, but takes all kinds, I suppose. Still - a friend in need and all that... I figure you're probably pretty green, so how about we stick together for awhile? Way I see it, I can help you from shooting yourself in the foot, and you'll do your duty and die to protect a superior officer!"

He laughed, but nothing in the sentence sounded like a joke.

" _I fucking fed you_ , after all. Means you _owe me_ , damnit. _You fucking owe me_. Ha, ha."

The last words were spoken.

"... Yeah, guess I do. Well, hopefully neither of us has to give our lives up in this place. I'd hate to die somewhere more green then I am."

Going from unsettling to cheerful in a heartbeat, Masterson clapped me on the back.

"Right you are, Copeman! Right you are... Hey, how about we take a little look at my collection before we head on? Trust me, you'll like it - it's a real pride and joy, it is."

... I really don't know what to say.

Masterston had collected hundreds of the corpse-humans. Maybe they weren't humans - just collection of filth and sewer and mildew that had clung to bones so long they'd grown sentient and hateful, or monsters stealing our shape. It was impossible to tell things like sex or skin tone - any hair had long since fallen out and the corpses seemed almost unified in height and (lack of) weight.  
They were chained to the wall, and many had bullet holes or knife wounds. Walking gingerly up to one, which struggle as he approached, Masterson poked it several times in the face -

Or eyeless, mouthless, noseless meat that might be called a face.

"Boop! Funny little boy then aren't you, funny little boy..."

Smiling like he'd found a new pet, Masterson kept poking, his gloved hand sinking a little deeper with every passing second. I couldn't watch the thing finally deflate - I didn't.

"Ah, Christ. C'mon! It's already dead, Copeman!... Ow."

One of the things had hurled a chunk of its own mass at Masterson - which had done little more then slog over him, his mild discomfort more at the presumption of an attack then any actual damage. He flashed me another broad grin.

"Sorry, sorry, false alarm. It's just that they keep hurling themselves at us, like monkeys flinging their own shit, or something. Doesn't hurt at all, but you can't be too careful. Anyway, this is what's been keeping me busy for now - hope to eventually one up it, if I've got the time. Eh, I'll be said to see it all go - who'll take care of my favorite funny little boy?.."

Bashing another one of the squirming monsters into jelly with the butt of his gun, Masterson strutted up to me with a tune on his lips and pep in his steps.  
  
"So, then! Where are we going?"

Neither of us had a clue, of course - there didn't seem to be any real way out of the strange sewage-drain area, and besides it and Masterson's campfire - it seemed there was nothing here besides a damp and fetid cellar grotto.

I'd stepped on the elevator to get away from Masterson for a moment and take a breath of fresh air - when I realized there were many 'floors' worth of green rock spire above us. And just because there was no visible exit...

"Hey, Masterson. Come here for a minute. Can this go up?"

The two of us watched as the ceiling opened above us, like some vertigo-inducing carnival ride.  
It was an elaborate optical illusion - the green rock growing farther and farther away the closer we got to it, and before long the elevator had stopped at a huge set of elaborate wooden doors - the same kind I had seen in the castle of the Manumitter.

"... Interesting. Things just got interesting. Well, something tells me that whatever is in there is going to be hostile, so stay close. Shoot to cripple, not to kill. Most of the things here aren't very dangerous after you've lamed'em, after all! So we'll just have ourselves a little safari, and see exactly what we can find."

Rustling my hair paternally with one hand, Masterson had already eagerly freed his assault rifle with the other.

But my instinct was telling me that anything beyond these gates was going to be larger and angrier then Masterson's chained meat-creatures, and maybe all the angrier because of them.  
I didn't make any motion to ready my shotgun and instead watched and waited - as from the distance behind us, a mournful cadence of deadened cries slowly began to fade away...


	5. E1M4 - Fear to Tred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... You know, at some point I realized I just don't care much about anything.  
>  Don't hate none of my fellow men, don't love'em either, of course - I don't really feel much towards them.
> 
> I mean, can you ever truly know another person? Look 'em straight in the eye and lock a bead on their soul, as it were?  
> I don't think you can.
> 
> So everyone around you is basically half-dead by dint of not being you. If you think about it like that, whatever you do to them is almost a mercy, so long as you put them out of their misery at the end - 
> 
> Applies just as well to monsters. And if you close your eyes, a monster doesn't look all that different, so you can project whatever you want onto it, you copy?..  
> ~

Apparently, we had reached the exact end of the Manumitter's castle - the dungeon of that fell demesne spilling into a field of sparse and alien shrubbery. A series of crude wooden bridges - likely constructed by the zombified servants that he had employed - crisscrossed over a swampy pond.  
  
[ It was the only natural barrier between the oubliette-like area we had arrived from and another, smaller fortification.](http://other-atmospheres.ambient-mixer.com/castle-chamber)  
Almost immediately as we left the elevator 'chamber' behind us, several things that looked to my eyes like large bags of flesh, inflated with some sort of gas and stretched over wire frames, drifted towards us.

Masterson, who'd been swinging his rifle back and forth, whistled, the dour look leaving his face in an instant.

"Well, what do we have here?! Never seen the likes of your ugly mugs before! Hey, can you smile with faces like that? C'mon, ladies - show us a big smile!"

The three creatures seemed to exchange hostile looks with one another - and slits on their faces opened up to reveal rows of crag-like teeth.  
Hovering a good hundred feet away, they turned in unison towards Masterson - and with a murmuring susurration and slight deflation of whatever gases kept them floating the air, spat something green and sulfuric towards him.

Laughing childishly, Masterson dodged - no hard feat, the acid landing a good few inches from him.  
But he made a show of it, dancing around from toe to toe as if we were at some county square dance instead of in a festering swamp in an alien realm.  
  
Square dances?  
They're... Well, it'd be easier to show you, but I'm not sure I could right now. People get together in a square, dance the night away - sometimes there's a cakewalk at the end.  
Yeah, if you win you get cake just for being there!  
  
Not that it's too likely, my whole family used to go to them, and there'd be folks from our church, and the local neighborhood -

For Masterson, killing things was a cakewalk.  
He was keeping the beat of his little dance with the clatter of rounds at his feet, eyes shining with mirth as one by one the gasbag ghosts deflated and crashed to the ground, leaking the same toxic green tar.  
One of them wasn't perfectly dead, so he walked up to it, singing to himself. Kicked it a few times, then placed his rifle right to its back and fired - a fountain of green tar shot upwards and Masterson laughed, taking an easy step back.

"Ah, you shoulda joined in! It's no fun if there isn't any sport involved. Pick up the pace, Copeman, or I'll end up lapping you before we find anything challenging! Hey, I wonder who built all these, eh?"  
  
Tapping one of the creaking bridges with the butt of his gun, I guessed Masterson hadn't met the Manumitter - or if he had, hadn't realized that this whole area was the sorcerer's domain.  
... Or at least, that's what I'd surmised at the time. I'd only just started to get an idea of how huge Elsewhere was, still hasn't really hit me, yet...

"I've got a fair clue. They look pretty unstable, though. Why not take the aquatic route and save ourselves the risk of shoddy craftsmanship killing us before one of the monsters does?"

Staring at me with the sort of dull, vacant expression that made him impossible to read, Masterson shook his head left and right, then burst into raucous laughter.

"You're taking the piss, son. Just dive right into the water though, hoping there aren't any beasties that swim? It's crazy, and I love it! You go first, and I'll follow. If something attacks us, I'll shoot you in the back and tell it this whole damn thing was your idea."

That was as good as I'd expected. I'd started making guesses about things - that most of the creatures we saw were either re-animated and slow, or otherworldly and filled with stuff that probably didn't hold up too good under liquid.  
The zombies might be able to shamble towards us slowly while we were swimming - but as Masterson had pointed out, unless they were armed and equipped, they were pretty much harmless.  
I just wanted to avoid as much danger as possible - and maybe get a better grip on where we were.

Because the other thing that'd been going through my mind was - what was up with all these structures?  
Clearly, there was more then one power at work here, and enough of them to build different kinds of buildings, carve out land, change the environment...  
That's not any more brutish then humanity, and it means something at least marginally intelligent has been through the area. I'm not trying to give humanity too much credit here, just that it meant we weren't alone.

I think - since it's just you and me - that's what started making the whole thing worth it. Even if I never got home, and everyone else was dead...  
  
At least one of the big questions I'd always had, ever since looking up at the stars late at night, had been answered. It was tiny, and selfish, and a little stupid - the circumstances were terrible, and humanity was wavering because of it.  
But... Well, I can't explain it. You've never been gripped by that sort of crappy existentialism that sneaks up on you late at night while you're washing the dishes -

Yeah, plates and stuff.  
  
Things you'd put food on. It really doesn't make it taste any worse. You wash them with water, clean water. No, I can't explain how it gets cleaned exactly, and no, it doesn't poison them.  
Anyway, the whole process takes ages and it's not my specialty, and I mean, do you really want to just sit here listen to me talk about plates being cleaned?

... If you really want -

All right, then. Some other time, ha. Aha...

Uhmn, where were we? I was knee-deep in the muck that does NOT qualify as clean water, Masterston behind me. I held my breath and plunged into it, hoping the stuff wasn't toxic - and luckily enough, I was right. Or maybe it was and I'm still reeling from the effects, but I'm a little skeptical of something like that.  
I imagine the things that don't kill you outright in a place like this are harmless. Elsewhere just seems like that kind of place.

The underwater grottoes were kind of beautiful, carved out as they had been by the sludge-like brine. It was a bit hard to see, but there were icons and emblems carved into the walls - mostly symbols, geometric in nature.  
Diamonds, triangles, shapes that had too many points for me to remember the complex mathematical name for them - and they seemed to mean something, but whether they were an alphabet or the memento of some time when this wasn't the moat of a some otherworldly overlord, I couldn't say.

Luckily for oxygen-breathers like Masterson and myself, the grottoes quickly poked up into the little fort we'd seen outside.  
It was made of wood - actual, earthy wood. I'm pretty sure that meant that it had been constructed by people from Earth, like the Manumitter's thralls, though at that time it was only a rough guess.

The flooring was tiled and checkered, like a chessboard and the moment we emerged from the diamond-shaped section in the center, two apparently hollow suits of armor roared into life and rushed at us, with swords half as large as themselves clutched in armor-plated hands.  
Masterson rammed into one, holding his rifle to the faceplate and opening fire. The ghastly knight struggle for a few minutes - but the unearthly armor couldn't stand so much cold steel, shot so quickly.  
After a few moments of squirming, it went still, steel-like surface dented and rusted - or perhaps bloodied.

As Masterson kept shooting, chuckling softly to himself, I eyed the second knight, which had began to circle me. My trigger finger was itching and telling me to shoot it, but I once again managed to reign it in and, on an impulse, began to move around it as well, trying to mirror its steps.  
It was like were we dancing the worlds slowest and most awkward waltz. That's another kind of dance -

Sure, I'll show you later. We've got all the time in the world, right..?

For a minute, I wondered if maybe the knight was going to lay down its sword. It had no eyes, but seemed to understand me. It had no mouth, yet I wondered if it might phrase a question. It had no ears...  
But if I addressed it, would it listen?

These thoughts kind of untangled when, teetering a little from the weight, Masterson cut it right down the middle with its fallen comrade's zweihander.

"Boom! Headshot! Ahaha, nothing inside. Spooky, ainnit? Well, you were a damn sight useless, Copeman. Go on then, don't be so useless, I'd hate to have to leave a corpse behind here. Terrible place to die, on a chessboard..."

"Might be a kind of poetry to it."

"Right, but then you're dead."

"Putting that aside, maybe red against white and black could represent something."

"Don't tell me it's the bleeding duality of man."

"I was thinking more that dichotomic world views are usually wrong, actually."

"Supposing you're right - which one would you choose?"

"Er, sorry?"

"Red, white, or black?"

"That still doesn't explain what I'm choosing - so it's a stupid question."

"Hey, hey, hey! No question's stupid, least not if it's been asked by me. And I'm asking you - _which one_?"

"Red, probably. It's a nice color."

"Peh. I'd choose blue, myself."

"But - I - "

" _Think fast, Copeman_."

Grinning mischievously, Masterson (who had been fiddling with a door at the end of the hallway as we spoke) threw a chunk of crumbled armor at my head.  
It bounced off with a plink that seemed to satisfy him as he chortled happily; the sharp metal lacerating my forehead as chunks dug in.

"What the hell?!"

"Could've dodged it, if you tr.... Jeezus."

The mirth left Masterson's face as the door swung open, slowly. A deep light that altered between an obsidian-black to shades of mottled orange engulfed our vision.

And when our vision cleared, we could make out the huge spires of a towering dark steel keep, surrounded by pits of magma that boiled incessantly as plumes of foul and sulfurous smoke rose to the tops of them.  
Overhead the sky-rock was once again visible, this time a foul and miasmatic purple; the occasional roar of distant thunder towered over us though no clouds could exist anywhere around us. Occasional wails and the torturous noises of strange machinery pierced our eardrums.  
Masterson - his eyes half-shut - fell to the ground.

"... not going. Not going. Not going... Not going..."

I stared at him, knelt over his rifle as if it were the handle on a train. I stared at him, and realized minutes had passed - and there wasn't much I could do or say that would make him come with me.

"Will you be all right..?"

I asked, figuring that it wasn't like either of us knew the answer anyway.

"Yeah. Fine."

He muttered, nodding his head up and down long after he'd spat out those two simple words.

And as he stared vacantly into the hellish landscapes that welcomed us - I walked forwards.


	6. E1M5 - Downfall in Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You stopped too long and I waited for you to continue but you did not continue. 
> 
> This bothered me because without your voice I began to wonder if you had ever really existed. If you hadn't existed, my next thought was that I had been mistaken and there was nothing sentient out there at all. This was frightening because I did not want to believe I had been wrong, and did not want to believe that I had dreamed of a person from a place that was known as Earth.  
> ~

[Whether it had been Masterson who had slammed the doors shut behind me, or they had folded backwards under their own weight, I did not know.](http://nature-other.ambient-mixer.com/inside-a-lava-cave)  
  
A river that flowed with comically orange liquid that I at first assumed to be lava before leaning over and find the liquid ice-cold and yet still ran as quick as water.  
The magma nearby, oozing and Earth-like in it's consistency, did nothing to heat the liquid, but simply existed with it side-by-side; and near the edges where they intersected, grew russet-colored slime molds that shivered quietly as I strode past them.

Not for the first time, I wanted the time to sketch this strange world; to take it all down on paper and bring back home the stories and images that I had seen.  
But at the same time, all around me the strangeness was as threatening as it was compelling; and the heat made me feel like stopping to catch my breath - and I knew that if I did, I'd drown under my own sweat and roll into one of the roiling pits, not to wake again.

I had never seen a keep like it before. Guess I probably never will again, either, huh?  
  
Try to imagine the feeling of closing your eyes and not seeing the familiar, but something like it, and you'll have an idea of how weird it was to me.  
At first, I thought that maybe it had been built so close to the doors because it was a demarcation of borders, or perhaps some sort of alternate-world castle, with the magma pits and rivers being feudal territories worked by whatever lived in this alien land. But there were no crops nor fields nor signs of cultivation, and I imagined that not even the most efficient life-form could live off of slime molds.  
  
So my second guess -

My second-guess was that it was ruined.  
As I drew closer, I could see how the shiny ash-blackened edges had grown worn, and ramparts that must have once been stainless had fallen into obvious disuse.  
Though it had been maintained somehow - and I'm still not sure to the specifics, there - it made me fear again; fear that I was alone, once again.

As for my third?  
Well... I kind of wanted to try ringing the metaphorical doorbell. To announce that I'd arrived, even if nobody was around to care.

It isn't easy for me to think of a way to describe keep gates to you; I mean, not the doors themselves, their significance. As a kid, they'd conjure up images of overlords, demons, and princesses...   
  
Uh, evil kings, monsters, and fair maidens whom are usually kidnapped by the former for some reason or another, and left to waste away inside prisons and towers and the like -  
  
But, it's harder for me to figure out how entirely to describe the scale of the things.  
I remember looking up at them as they rose alongside the spires and crags, and wondering if perhaps giants had once lived amongst this place - and if they had, why they had left it to sit so ruined and alone. It took me a little while to figure out that the doors themselves were decorations, and much smaller doors - large enough to easily accommodate yourself, for example, but still a bit tall for me - were crafted into them.  
It was artistic, but also a bit hard for me to figure out while I was still adjusting to the area. Imposing entrances aren't my area of expertise.

But they opened easily enough, and before I could stop myself I realize I'd called out in the hope that there might be someone, anyone, there.

How beautiful the interior was, though - the way that the floor glistened like the inside of a geode, and the phosphorous 'candles' against the walls whispered as I passed them by.  
Even though the echo I got in response was pretty disheartening, I still recall just spending a few minutes taking in the architecture, wondering if I might one day get a chance to reminisce about my first impressions with someone - I suppose it's funny how that works, isn't it..?

The vastness I couldn't get used to, though. You always hear about people complaining about crowds on earth - about being packed in too tight, about being around too many people. I understand that, though I guess - yeah, that's what I thought.  
But the one thing I think people tended not to experience so much was isolation.  
Not comforting isolation, or even menacing isolation - but so much space that it becomes stifling.  
  
I realize the purpose of the entrance hall, when once it was busy and full of life; but for just me, stepping against brittle mineral flooring in the eerie light was like taking a bathysphere down into the depths of the ocean deep.

Hah, and that's another thing we'll have to do some time. I mean, if you'd like? Hell, I don't know what I'm even saying... I guess I'm getting nervous.  
When we get out of here, I mean.  
  
...

It took me some time to figure out that the curled sea-shell like passageways were stairs.  
The upper level seemed even more empty to me; criss-crossed causewalks and black-laced hallways that seemed to have no purpose.  
I nearly jumped out of my skin the first moment I walked down one and the wall opened up on me. Then I thought that it was kind of cool, and, uh, walked backwards until the door closed... Then walked back again.  
We have those back home even - there was no reason for me to do so, I just felt giddy and stupid. Less so when I saw the mess inside though.

The marine... I guess he died from a shot to the head?  
He'd been wearing patchwork armor that might have looked more ridiculous then my own. I probably would've laughed, if the gashes in it and his skin weren't so brutal.  
  
I don't think I'd ever seen bone mixed like that in a human before. In sausage, maybe, or stew. Not in humans; in meat.

Back home, people butchered animals, and here humans were butchered.  
It made an eerie kind of sense at the time. My first thought was unpleasant - I immediately ran over to the corpse, looking for anything that could be useful.  
My second thought was that someone had taken whatever weapons he'd had, and my third was that anything of value had been... Crunched... By whatever impact had mauled him so badly that he finished himself off.

It still bothers me that I'd grown so accustomed to this place that was my first thought, but I still stand by my actions.  
There wasn't a place to bury him, so, you know... I figured that I might as well drag him back down to one of the magma pools. It'd take awhile to dispose of the corpse - but I hoped that my fellow soldier might find some semblance of peace there. I'd heard back in the past that people used to set their bodies to ships, and set those ships alight.  
  
I guess this was me trying to give the guy, if he was a guy, a ship of a kind of his own. And that maybe he'd be able to use it to find his way home.

Though the hike back was pretty draining and I still hadn't gotten used to the distance between the castle and the lakes and pits, it felt good - better then it would've to simply have scavenged his corpse. So I guess I was feeling good - no, better then good.  
It was a little victory against the dread that seemed to hang in the air everywhere, and it made me feel more then a little safer, right up until I got back and notice that the doors to the keep - which I'd left ajar as I hauled my compatriot to his last rites - had been closed.

At the time I nearly hurled.

Can't recall if it was out of fear or excitement, maybe both - but somehow I regained my composure and figured that if anything that had followed me that silently, it either didn't want me dead or didn't think it could take me even with a surprise attack. Steeling my morale, I tried to imagine what Masterson would do - what Sunny would do, after I thought about Masterson for a bit and decided I wasn't going to hold him up as a role model.  
Not even in a world, or worlds, like this.

Given how many storage chambers were in the upper area, I moved slowly. The fact that they were all mostly empty save for the oblong containers that you'd ransacked didn't do much to help my nerves, that's for sure.

I still remember though - the second-to-last door to the left. My heart was beating, and I knew that either my mind had been playing tricks on me, or -

"I was very surprised to see you because I had assumed you would leave. At the time I had hoped you would leave. But you didn't. I suppose that means you have returned to where..?"

"Yeah,"  
  
Gerald murmured, smilingly to himself and pulling his arms around his knees as he pulled himself closer to the weakly burning fire.  
  
"Guess, you're up to speed. So from here on out - "


	7. E1M8 - Hyphen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I should've taken action?
> 
> Or, or intimidated you, or tried my damnedest to look menacing - just shoot you, even.  
> Not that I could've done any of those things. 
> 
> Heck, it was half-comical and half-entrancing the way you were crouched around all the ruined monitors and wires, fixing me with the eight of your eyes. I felt kind of like I'd interrupted a hardware geek working with a project; not that'd mean much to you, I guess. 
> 
> So, I guess the first real memory I have of you is just staring off at one another, while time passed...  
> ~

He knew he must have looked like shit; it was impossible to not have looked as if he'd wandered through [hell itself](https://youtu.be/HM1G5vdgz4U) after coming so far.  
  
Nevertheless, Gerald felt suddenly very aware of how disheveled and ruined he looked;  
The surplus helmet he'd been wearing - a half-helmet of the kind the UN had been distributing in the last days - shaded his eyes but didn't cover them entirely, and just ended up flattening his hair like a bowl.  
All in all, not the absolute worst way to make what he assumed was the first real contact, but certainly not the best.

It was clear as the creature in front of him unfurled that it was sentient, and perhaps as confused as he was, for it blinked not once but several times with manifold eyes that had no lids; just a soft brown 'film' that washed over them briefly as they asynchronously shuttered. Trusting himself and that hostility hadn't broken out just yet, Gerald swallowed audibly and held out a hand.

The creature shrieked and fell backward, spikes jutting from its shoulders and and arms as it held them in front of itself.

"Uh, whoa, chill down! Simmer down even - I'm, uh, not a bad guy!"  
  
The man winced as he spoke, half from the ridiculous of what he had just said - and half from the fact he was a million miles from home, and no other human was near to hear him stumble over his introduction.  
But to Gerald's slight surprise, the creature did calm down, noticeably.  
Still blinking - and the spikes of what appeared to be its own bone retracting into it's carapace-like skin - it hunched over from its rather imposing full height and sidled over to him, cautiously.

He couldn't look away from the creature's eyes, which were no longer blinking - simply staring at his, little motes of solid black.  
Gerald wondered if maybe it was as entranced as he was, and continued to idly wonder as it drew increasingly near...  
And with a sweep of one of it's long arms, knocked the helmet from his face.

"Uh, hey, watch it! I definitely wouldn't want to end up..."  
  
But wherever he was going, Gerald found the words ending up dead on his lips.  
  
The entity had taken his helmet and crowned itself with it, tilting its head to one side before shrieking again and cavorting around him, the umber orange of it's carapace darting almost too quickly for him to follow.  
Gerald opened his mouth to try to speak again - only to realize that the creature had stopped, and very somberly placed one hand against his head.

Feeling his hair, slowly, as if it was the most exotic thing imaginable.  
Perhaps to the stranger, it was.

The moment passed, however, and the stranger began to gesture rapidly to the collection of scattered computer electronics about it, some seemingly plucked from the fortress walls and crenelations that Gerald had passed earlier.

"I can't help you with those. I mean, I'd like to say that I can, but I don't know if any of them even run similarly to the ones I'm used to, and I mean - "

Clearly not understanding him, it grabbed Gerald by his hand and dashed back into the hallway, and the soldier struggled to keep up.  
  
It's gait was unsteady, and uneven, but when it stood at it's full height, it didn't need to be; easily standing at six feet.  
One of the wall-chambers that he had passed opened with the same satisfyingly compressed hiss of air as the creature led him into an antechamber that was mostly just room for a wall - a wall that, side to side, was nothing more then a large and almost antediluvian computer, fed by several towers that looked to be half-organic and half-mechanical in nature.

"Sweet Christmas..."

Gerald murmured to himself, staring at the puddling tar around the organic base of one of the towers.  
It appeared to be a mixture of the water - or perhaps fluid? - from before, and began to pulsate rapidly as the creature began to activate the screen proper with a patient chittering.

The screen itself crackled to life, a crystalline and reflective grey that shimmered as several texts - most of which looked like nothing Gerald had ever seen - flickered across the screen. As they drifted by, he began to see fonts and characters he could recognize, though they never drifted into complete sentences. The creature stared at him intently, and Gerald tried to figure out what it wanted - then, his brow furrowing, he smiled.

"Well... I'm Gerald, Gerald Copeman. How do you do?"

Chittering excitedly, the strange creature jumped slightly, then curled up and tilted it's head to the side, chittering rapidly as it's fingers sunk into ashen fungus that composed the 'keys' of the computer - and the screen flashed a familiar font, and familiar words.

"HI! HI! HI!"

"Uh, hello to you too."  
  
Gerald replied with a grin, then further narrowing his brow and standing next to the creature.  
He hesitantly stuck a finger onto one of the black and withered fungi nearby, then almost withdrew as he felt a short and violent shock against his fingertips.

But he didn't, and was surprised to find the letters almost forming in his mind - not just in English, but in myriad other languages, some of which had been lost to time...  
And others which had never been spoken amongst the languages of humanity, but only in this realm and time - and that he, alone in humanity, now knew.

"You can understand me now?"

"Huh, I guess I can - that's some pretty trippy stuff."  
  
Gerald replied with a wry grin, much to the consternation of his compatriot.  
It appeared the translations weren't perfect - as sometimes the words lagged on the screen or in his mind, for he had trouble telling which was which as the two intersected.

"Yes. I put a lot of heart into it! It's my pride and joy! I'm very happy to meet someone to share it with. I thought I was the last. I thought I was alone."

The creature turned to the side, all eight eyes shuttering as it shivered slightly. Suddenly, waves of emotion washed over Gerald.

"Were you frightened of me?"

"Yes. I thought you had come to kill me."

"And you were just waiting here, all alone?"

"Most of my kin have already left. I think they are all dead. One came who looked akin to you. He was wounded very badly. I tried to help him but he did not want my help. I think he was... I think he was even more alone."

Scratching his chin, Gerald tried to imagine what it must have been like for the soldier he'd seen earlier - and what the soldier's reaction had been.  
And if this stranger - hopefully, this friend - was telling the truth... Something else had did that damage to the dead marine.  
Something that was probably still out there, now.

Wiping the worry from his face with an unpleasantly unpracticed ease, Gerald flashed a smile and hoped it had the same cultural meaning to whatever his newfound friend was.  
It seemed to, or at least be neutral - for it flashed him one back, all jagged teeth and sharp lines, crooked and irregular.

"Well - I guess neither of us are alone now. I introduced myself before, did you get that?"

"Yes! Yes. There's no way you could pronounce my name without altering your vocal chords however. I am sorry."

"Ahaha, that's not a 'sorry-now-I'm-going-to-do-the-altering', right?"

"No! _Nonono!_ "  
  
Removing it's hands from the fungal keyboard, the creature began to flail about wildly, bandying from side to side with a cacophonous chittering.

"Hold on, that was a joke, sorry. I guess that doesn't translate well..."  
  
Gerald hastily typed to the relief of the entity, which slunk back to the keyboard with a relaxed clattering of teeth that Gerald decided to equate to a sigh.  
Then, a thought entered his mind and he added:  
  
"Hold on. Were you flustered?"

"You may call me Hyphen! It is close enough to my name and I like the way it sounds."  
  
The creature typed with great pride on its face - patently ignoring his more recent question.  
  
"I am sorry I was unnerved. I don't want to hurt you. I do not wish to harm anyone. I am a scientist. Are you... A scientist as well?"

"Sort of."   
  
Gerald answered half-heartedly, not wanting to let down his excitable new friend.  
  
"Or rather - I sold stuff scientists worked with. Now I guess I'm a soldier."

Hyphen's face twisted into something that looked like sorrow, eyes shuttered for a brief moment before it responded. And when it did respond it was very slow and methodical, as if chewing through whatever thoughts it had before it 'spoke'.

"That is very sad. Then I suppose it is just you and I."

He didn't even know if it was true, but Gerald sighed and spoke instead of typed.

"Yeah, yeah it is."

Silent for some time, the two merely stared at each other before Hyphen began to type furiously.

"Please give me a half day to work on this. I will attempt to work on a way for us to communicate more rapidly. Are you lost here? Please respond quickly."

"Uh, yes. Y! Pft, what am I saying - "

"I thought so. I would like to come with you. Would that be acceptable?"

"Absolutely. I don't do well without accompany - and I'd rather make friends then enemies. How old are you, anyway, sir?"

Hyphen paused, then began to rock its head back and forth and clack its teeth together with a quiet susurration that Gerald soon recognized as laughter.

"I'm not ancient by our years. I will not slow you down. And your title is incorrect; I am a female."

"Oh, er, my apologies!"  
  
Before Gerald could try to think of a way to explain his uncertainty - or why such an assumption had even seemed wise in the first place - Hyphen paused slowly, her frontal eyes focused intently on Gerald.  
  
"You are as well..?"

"Nosi - ma'am! Uh, and human. Same as the other guy you saw. And, uh, sorry, I didn't have a clue if you were binary or dimorphic or reproduced by, by spore clouds, or..."

She was silent again before she responded, clearly deep in thought.

"I am familiar with that concern. Please do not trouble yourself! I will set this to compile."

"Some things never change,"  
  
Gerald managed to murmur before he could stop himself, causing a peal of laughter from Hyphen.

"It appears not. When it is done we may move on. This place is only as safe as long as the boundaries remain in place. When they do not things will become more dangerous. I do not plan to die here."

Hyphen smiled again. Her smile was alien, and very heavy on the teeth - but at the same time a shared gesture is a comforting thing, and made Gerald feel marginally less alone.

"Thanks, Hyphen. I have food. Do you know if you can eat, uhmn, beta carotene, thiamine, uh..."  
  
Shaking her head, Hyphen managed to stifle the chittering that constituted her laughter and instead removed one hand from the keyboard and placed it on Gerald's shoulder.

" _I can eat anything!_ "  
  
Despite it being text, there was some pride that came through in her words, and Gerald found himself laughing as well.  
For the first time, he didn't feel entirely alone in the strange world - and with a nod of his head he excused himself from the keyboard and began to slowly take out several of the provisions that Masterson had given him, as he watched his strange and new-found ally turn her full attention to the screen, now vacant of any characters at all - but instead rapidly twisting from color to color, so much that it hurt his eyes to look at.

Suddenly, the realization hit him that he was tired - exhausted - and uncontrollably, his eyes began to blink...  
And then close... And finally, drift shut entirely, and all he knew was a comforting void.


	8. E1M6 - Whispers of the Bloodied Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you had not come here, I would have tried to sleep.
> 
> Resting in the deep chasms beneath the stone.  
> You see, they are like beds. Soft stone, smooth and enveloping.  
> And you do not understand.
> 
> I would have slept until I forgot what it meant to be awake.  
> ~

[The fire, lit from woods that neither of the two sitting around it could name, kicked up a pungent furniture-accented ash.](http://videogames.ambient-mixer.com/lavashot)  
Gerald had long since given up on getting rid of his permanently dry and ruddied nose, glad that the creature sitting across from him knew little enough of humanity that it might seem a normal action to scratch it; not some minor discourtesy.

Hyphen, for whatever she was and wherever she hailed, at first had seemed the classical image of some kind of hellish messenger.  
And the realization that anyone else probably would've opened fire...  
  
“I'm very glad I was able to make this work. Typing regularly. That would've been a challenge, wouldn't it...”  
  
“Definitely; Elsewhere seems to be a sink-or-swim kind of purgatory. Getting jumped because I'm trying to ask you what you're thinking doesn't strike me as the most noble way to bite it.”  
  
“You won't bite it! We'll be clever, and stick to the dark. The Kingsteen/Toivo device you mention. Maybe I can imitate it! We could leave, somewhere... Though I worry, if there are places habitable to both of us...”  
  
Her chittering grew silent, the orange hue of her carapace betraying some emotion he could not read.  
Consternation, perhaps, and fear.  
Gerald watched her eyes drift close, one by one, and sighed.  
  
“Look – for all I know, it's just you and me. Maybe Masterson is dead. Maybe Sunny is dead. I – I don't think she'll die before us, though.”  
  
“... There are very frightening people here. Beside your soldier, when we arrived – there was a beast. It was doing something, generating something. At first it seemed like electricity. Then it wasn't.”  
  
“ _Helpful._ ”  
  
Gerald murmured, trying not to smile.  
  
“... I wish we could've detained it. Then I could've studied it! But it was wise not to pursue such a shambling behemoth, I think... Oh, that was another joke, wasn't it. _AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!_ ”

“Chri... Criminy!”

Covering his ears and going beet-red from embarrassment, Gerald did his best not to look at the tooth-lined complexion of his companion; whose hasty, bonecurdling 'laughter' (despite the fact she had been able to facilitate a kind of laughter earlier) was clearly her reflexive attempt to imitate the sound of his.  
  
Translations were one thing; cultural conventions, another entirely.  
  
“Sorry! Sorry, sorry. I'm just happy to be talking to someone. To have food. To not be alone. I guess we should make plans on where to proceed...”  
  
And where indeed...

Beyond what he'd come to think of as their camp, lit in the dying ruins of Hyphen's greatest accomplishment, and perhaps her last as a scientist of her realm, the fire had began to die.  
Hyphen could create fire, in much the way an eel could create electricity – or so she had explained it to him.  
  
The heat and the steam and the fire and the scent of brimstone was terrifying and hellish to Gerald, however, and he was glad she seemed content to let it wither into darkness, perhaps because the dim reflection of her abyss-black eyes was beginning to seem comforting.  
More comforting, even, then light...

Perhaps that was what adaptation to this alien world was; and perhaps it should have worried him.  
  
“There was one in his – in the Manumitter's castle. And I feel like... The way it was described, the Kingsteen/Toivo device exists in many worlds and many places at the same time, since before it was made.”  
  
“But that is patently impossible.”  
  
A skeptical bemusement crept into Hyphen's voice, and in the dark – where he couldn't see the alien chitin of her carapace, burnt orange and bizarre, Gerald could imagine he was talking to a friend – a new friend, not so different then anyone else he knew.

“Sure, more impossible then a scientist with razorblade extensions and eight eyes and fire magic.”  
  
“It isn't magic, and you are the bizarrity. You are just... Soft. Lumpy. You should've been eaten by the predators on your world.”  
  
“Should've?”  
  
“ _No!_ I was joking – “  
  
“I know.”  
  
Smiling, Gerald closed his eyes – embracing the totality of the dark.

… He could hear Hyphen cautiously slinking closer, pulling herself across the floor in that strange, stilted gait with which she walked.  
  
“Thank you for making me comfortable. I hope I do not, frighten you, too much...”  
  
“Not at all.”  
  
And once more, in an instant, the strangeness of this world had made the statement true.  
Perhaps his mind was changing as well; not from some alien machine, nor the machinations of Elsewhere, but his own choices – and other things, still.  
  
Hyphen made a strange, whirring sound that he assumed was the equivalent of a whistle, and rose to her full height.  
Even in the darkness she loomed; taller then him, though not as tall as some of the Manumitter's beasts or Sunny; but it was reassuring to have a friend nearby, perhaps one stronger then he; even if no more of a combatant.  
  
“Well, we can protect each other. I think there is a path beyond this place. Into the fire. How much fire can you withstand, how much heat damage?”  
  
“None. We humans are very flammable.”  
  
“Oh, right, right. I had forgotten your burial of that kinsman. We shall not walk into the firepits, then. But this place was built with a purpose so I am sure we can find an alternate path!”  
  
_Optimism._  
  
It suddenly hit him what had been missing, what hadn't been present in anyone else he had spoken to since before the sky had gone red.  
Hope, the belief things might be better in the future, no matter how grim they seemed.  
Gerald almost laughed – but that seemed crass in and of itself.  
  
He wanted to share in that – and did share in that, and believed things might turn out for the best... And would not forsake it, now.

Hyphen's clawed hand was smooth, smoother then polished stone.  
It felt softer then it looked, but shook his cautiously, and yet in a familiar enough gesture that his spirits buoyed further.  
Her handspikes retracted on instinct, leaving only a reassuring warmth, the same warmth that seemed to radiate from the core of her being.  
  
“Thanks, Hyphen. I'm not much of a fighter, and less of a killer. But, protecting scientists sounds like the sort of mission a guy like me just might be able to pull off. Let's make tracks, ma'am!”  
  
Outside, the ember-walls and their crimson lighting danced beautifully as one by one, they flickered out. He remembered a phrase, or perhaps a novel; but the lights were already off, and there might well be nobody else to see them.

“... It's very pretty.”  
  
“Yeah. Somehow, I feel like I'll miss it even though I can't stop feeling terrified.”  
  
“Terror isn't such a bad thing. You appreciate life more when you're afraid. Even should we die, I would appreciate this. Before welcoming sweet oblivion!”

“Urgh, we've got to work on your sense of humor...”  
  
“Maybe I wasn't joking. _AHAHAHAHA!_ ”

“That makes it obvious you're joking, Hyphen...”  
  
Still, the darkness here began to feel comforting as well.  
Where the crystalline floor tapered off, there was also a pathway down, past two similarly huge doors – with smaller inset-doors, akin to those he had entered by.  
  
They seemed _almost_ designed for Hyphen, though if her spikes had been extended, they would've lodged her in the door.  
Even if the sight of a wiggling alien-slash-scientist trying to defeat a double door was mildly amusing, Gerald manged not to burst into the same shrieking 'laughter' Hyphen was affecting just to keep his spirits up...  
  
_And then the realization hit him that, perhaps, was at least one of the reasons she was doing it._

Whistling himself, Gerald threw open one of the smaller doors with too much strength and it flew backwards, planting into him.  
He had not replaced his helmet, and the impact sent him sprawling to the floor.  
Wincing, he was halfway to his feet when Hyphen loped over, propping him up with practiced ease.

“Foolish, what are you doing! You cannot kill a door. Or is that supposed to reassure me?”  
  
“Did it?”  
  
“A little. But I don't wish to say more.”

“Sorry, my eyes are stinging. How does it look out there?”  
  
“Comforting, warm. A little like home. The atmosphere is not so dry, there are no carvings nor homes outside of this citadel. The firepits continue downwards, I did not dive into them. I think they are a trap.”  
  
“What makes you say that?”  
  
She'd gently helped him along like a goose leading a gosling alongside it, which was something else he found amusing – but a voice inside whispered that he couldn't afford to be only amused, too happy to be talking with someone sane, someone pleasant, who just happened to be the most alien being of all those he had yet encountered.

Above, the hanging rocks grew in strange formations.  
They dripped fire, but none hung over head; obviously, they must feed into the pools of fire, or 'firepits' Hyphen had noticed before. And the fire that fell grew, burnt, calcified, and turned into a liquid as it fell...  
  
Occasionally watched by some of the floating gasbags Masterson and he had seen earlier.  
They showed no signs of further hostility, or perhaps simply had not noticed their audience.  
  
Hyphen kicked at the ground irritably, a scalpel-like blade of bone stubbing itself against the ground which was evidently more solid then she was used to.  
Wincing, another gesture he could at least understand in full, Hyphen draped her arms unevenly behind her, pacing like a general might.  
  
“It is very simple. For my people, it would be obvious to go there and hide. We build most of our cities in rock and magma and steam vents. So. A trap. But, it also seems to be a trap for those like you; it's obvious, isn't it..?”  
  
And it was.  
  
Black, obsidian roads led down towards the pits of glowing embers like a neon-sign on a late-night pastry shop he'd frequented.  
  
“ _This is an important secret!_ ” – screamed the passageway – “ _And you should notice it!_ ”  
  
Gerald hummed, scratching the first of what was a layer of stubble threatening to overwhelm his chin.  
He'd have to see about that, later...  
  
“Yeah, I think you're right. Well, what other options do we have?..”  
  
His eyes darted to the pools beyond, shining and almost translucent.  
There was something on one of the far walls – something strange, and red, on a white pattern that almost looked as if it had been painted there...  
  
_Almost.  
  
_ “Hyphen. Do you think you could swim out there, and tap that?”  
  
It felt weird, in the dancing light cast by rising and falling peals of fire that only lasted for moments before changing color and form.  
Her eyes fell on him seriously, and he felt completely at ease at their eight empty expanses. Her smile was all teeth, all jagged, the smile of something that had evolved to puncture things and yet...  
  
“Yes, most definitely. Please, just guard me. I don't want to be hit by the frightening acid ghosts.”  
  
“They're not acid ghosts!”  
  
“I know, that was another joke. They seem unobservant. Don't they? I will be careful. Watch me – please.”  
  
“Y-yeah. You got it. Come back safe, Hyphen.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
Awkward as the mission briefing had become, it felt like they weren't just strangers now, but comrades-in-arms, or fellow soldiers.  
A soldier and a scientist, a warrior and and a wizard, a knight and...  
  
Late-night screenings of 80's sword and sorcery specials played through his mind as Gerald laughed quietly to himself. The analogies felt a little foolish, but...  
The weight of his shotgun felt a little more bearable, all the same.  
  
His gaze locked against Hyphen – who burst into that uneven gait that still unnerved him.  
Occasionally she'd jump against walls and almost blend into them when the fire, at it's most burnt-orange, camouflaged her carapace.  
When the flames fell, she dropped into the fire, head barely visible above the slowly-moving ocean of heat that wasn't exactly magma.

None of the acid ghosts – the floating gasbags – seemed to take notice or care of her presence, content as they were to hover in circles around the rocks above.  
Finally, the tiny, insectoid figure of Hyphen was just visible against the distant isle. It jumped up and down, and he waved sheepishly...  
And then she pressed the switch, with a great deal more force then was necessary.

The howling was horrific as the sea of fire was sucked downwards. In protest, gouts of firewater pillared and shot into the sky, burning ghosts to cinders in an instant before dragging their acid-damaged cinders down into the whirling pool in the floor.  
  
Gerald had to cover his eyes even as his stomach was rent with fear that he'd placed Hyphen in danger, that he'd wake up only to be incinerated by the rising wall of liquid flame, or worse still, to see her alive, but smothering that roiling inferno, helpless as she was pulled into the ebon darkness below...

But the blinding light that had rose as the firepits roared their last subsided soon enough, and with it, he was able to see Hyphen, cautiously and slowly crawling along the wall back to him.  
  
And below them both, the path was open.  
No entities were present, and only brittleblack rock, dark and jagged as a row of knives, bade them welcome.  
  
“... I did not expect that. I think it was also a trap.”  
  
“Yeah. I'm... I'm so sorry.”  
  
“They are probably ghosts. And regardless, I would do it again. Now we can both go together.”  
  
“... Thank you, Hyphen. Are you okay?”

What was her mental, anyway?  
Did soldiers say it like that, in real life?  
Did she even have the same psychology, get hit by trauma the same way they did?  
  
And on that note – had he acclimated to this..?  
  
She was staring into the dark pit below.  
  
It was less dark then her eyes, those pools of ink with no other color to be found in them, and yet all the more terrifying for it.  
And she did not seem sad, no one seemed sad for the inhabitants of this place – but she seemed the closest to it, perhaps solely because he felt sorrow for the ruined vapor beings...  
Or whatever they had been.  
  
“Only because I am with a friend. I am not good at being alone. Will you please stay close to me.”  
  
Whatever she was, Hyphen didn't cry.  
But she shook, and her shaking was clearly the same as his was, and Gerald tried to look safe and protective as he stood in front of the taller being with her hard, harsh carapace and her many retractable spikes; because it hadn't been a question.  
And because she was scared.

“Promise. I'll take, uh, point. If something really bad happens, run.”  
  
“ _No._ ”  
  
“Oh – uh, all right. Hold my hand then, because I'm pretty scared too.”  
  
Her laughter – the real way she laughed, that clattering of teeth against one another, slightly grating – was incredibly comforting to him.

As the black rock engulfed them, a grate – huge, and not at all unlike the grates humans might have built – closed shut behind them, winced shut by some gigantic mechanism.  
It was dark, and Gerald realized with well-hidden terror that he could not see, at all.

“This is considered lucky, though I do not like placing too much faith in luck. Would it... Would it help if I lit it for you?”  
  
“Would that be unlucky?”  
  
“I do not mind.”  
  
The whisper she made that was unintelligible chittering, that whisper which his mind, forever altered as it was, now understand with perfect clarity – it was comforting, in a way he had not felt for some time.  
And that alien comfort, something primal in his body was starting to warn him –  
  
It was not _natural_ , or _right_ , even though it felt as both.

She squeezed his hand with hers, and though it was alien and composed of that strange, smooth chitin, it was not entirely unfamiliar, either.  
And, no matter how unusual it might have been and she might be, there _was_ the mercy that she didn't spear him by accident, too.  
  
Her right hand drifted free, and an unshaped orange-bright fire burst into being inside of it, illuminating the many steps they had came down, and the many steps ahead of them yet to be traversed.

Great cities built of brown clay, or something like brown clay, rose in the chasm ahead of them.  
All manner of runes and symbols lurked amongst the city ruins, most defaced by time but still somewhat visible. He couldn't read any of them, and obviously, neither could she...  
Even with whatever she'd done.  
  
“Very few parts of my planet are unpopulated, but we do not build great cities. Often we just carve into the rock, in vents or close spaces. These interlink, become dispersed cities of a type. That is comfortable. _This_ is not bad, but it is a workspace, or sacred. Do you agree?”  
  
Open spaces were sacred.  
  
Wide open spaces, or friendly houses where you could hold hands and witness the dawn sky, blue, not red.  
But this might have been sacred too, or a city for giant beings, taller enough to carry himself and Hyphen on their great shoulders, should they have shoulders.  
  
Gerald rubbed his stubble, watching Hyphen watching him from behind the sizzling heat of her held fire.  
  
“No. We live in cities, though I don't think you're necessarily wrong either. Abandoned though, for sure, probably a long time before we got here. Does time even work the same, in Elsewhere...”  
  
“A good question. Perhaps a dangerous question, too. If we spend too much time thinking about time, we'll grow as old as these ruins, and be twice as abandoned.”  
  
“Only twice?”  
  
“There are only the two of us, here.”  
  
… And there really were.  
No more of his fellow soldiers seemed to be present, alive or dead; nothing that looked remotely like Hyphen was visible, and somehow he was certain that this place hadn't been breached by anything else yet; it seemed forlorn, too forlorn and alone, to be anything more then a ruin.  
  
The path split in many fractal directions, rising and lowering and growing wider to accommodate increasingly long strides.  
Against it, even in close file, the two of them seemed like a candle holding up a tiny fire; and perhaps they were.  
Far, far beyond, there lay a huge structure built into the brown clay itself, but built of the same monstrously black rock as before.

It radiated something, an emotion without words, primal and earthen, and he felt fear.  
  
“We... We shouldn't go there, Hyphen.”  
  
_But we have to._  
  
“Don't you think there's no choice? Something is guiding us. I think it is another trap, but I also think we will trap whomever set it for us. And then we will find out why they have done all of this.”  
  
There was a quiet malice there, but though he forsook violence easily as he did, neither did he disregard the anger of others.  
It was his turn to give her hand a tight squeeze, and Hyphen held his hand back.  
Carapace touched rent glove and skin, and the two strangers, alien to one another, walked on.  
  
Where the path met wide steps, classical and reminiscent of what Gerald decided was some alien hand at recreating the Hellenistic buildings of ancient Earth, the bowels of the building opened up, lit with a pale yellow flare that dwarfed the flickering nimbus Hyphen held.  
Its steam whistled one last worried whisper, then died, leaving them staring up into the empty passageways.  
  
“Above, there is a message. Is it your tongue, Gerald?”  
  
He laughed, quietly.  
  
“Sorry, that was a foolish question. If it was in your milieu I would know – “  
  
“Nope, I just found it funny how you pronounced my name. Kind of like hearing you say it.”  
  
“Then I will say it more often. At some point, I may try in vain to teach you my name! It would be fun. I would like it, but... When are free. Not now.”  
  
“Not now.”  
  
And the spires rose above them, their rock hewn into the earth as an idol and a testament both, a blasphemous warning that the halls above were not just part of the city, but perhaps a place where the foolish might leave tribute to propitiate dark and ruinous powers that would abide little else then absolute loyalty...  
If even that.

The sconces inside were eternally lit by dancing yellow pyres, though the light was not flame.  
Without thinking, Gerald touched it; his hand went through the fire entirely, unharmed and unable to disrupt its dance.  
  
“You can always tell the worst kind of employer when they keep their place running at full juice while the town goes to seed...”  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
“Ruin, _uh_ , desolation...”  
  
“No, no. I understand the aphorism. There should only be one kind of employer though. You employ yourself to do the function you are best at.”  
  
“Mmmn, you'd have a lot of trouble in my world.”  
  
“ _Maybe I would rule it_!”  
  
Perhaps her jokes were getting better, or perhaps the alien lighting shading her fragmented and sharp teeth a flickering yellow had induced the last tier of Stockholm Syndrome, but Gerald laughed until he thought he might cry.  
  
“Go for it. There's so little left, you'd probably do a better job of it. What exactly is a ruler called in your world?”  
  
“Oh, there isn't a ruler, like yours. It is more small-scale, and the very strong rule for awhile. I am not very strong, so it was a joke, but...”  
  
“Maybe you're stronger then me, so does that make you the strongest?”  
  
“Do not say such things..!”  
  
As they walked down mausoleums buoyed against artificial firepits apparently fed by the same strange rock-pools they'd seen before, layered one against another like black slabs of masonry, or great bricks, it occurred to Gerald that Hyphen was looking studiously away, her hand slightly lax against his.  
  
“Was that too much? Did I insult your god, or gods, or something...”  
  
“I do not believe in the gods.”  
  
“Oh. Uhmn, I have a god – “  
  
“That is fine. I mean, I do not mind. I mean.”  
  
He'd realized the longer he stared what it was, the off-orange of the carapace around her face a paler white.  
  
“Are you blushing?”  
  
“Perhaps. It does not mean anything unusual. I am just glad to be in an environment a little like home. We may renovate this place and make it pleasant and not need to explore more!”

… She wouldn't stop of course, and it was just a distraction, but Gerald hummed another bar of a forgotten song he'd heard on the radio, lifetimes ago.  
His own radio was still silent – but then again, at least there was the feeling of progress.  
  
“Maybe so. Guess we'll have to see if this is a dead end, won't we?”  
  
The mausoleum was even more vast here – wide enough to enhance the feeling of isolation, but stacked so thickly with sealed crypts without visible entrances that if the earth shook, perhaps wracked by another spasm from some switch or lever, another trap lain by their invisible foe...

Images of the coffins collapsing upon them, crunching against Hyphen and himself until they were nothing more then a torrent of broken bones under their unyielding weight overcame him.  
Gerald closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths.  
  
“My customs would forbid it. To say nothing of my moral code. _AHAHAHAHA_... Gerald...”  
  
“I'm here. Just let me hold you for awhile longer.”  
  
“Please do not fear...”  
  
“I'm trying.”  
  
But he realized how Masterson had felt, what seemed like ages gone and past. Perhaps Hyphen felt it too, perhaps that was the point of this wretched grave; above them rose a vast crematorium, where an endless stream of coffins were dispensed.  
Perhaps they weren't coffins to whatever ran or dwelled in the tarbrine fire that burned a hungry red, there.  
  
Perhaps it was food, and this was a banquet, neverending and eversupplied.  
  
“Do you think we... Found...”  
  
“I do not know. Gerald.”  
  
“Hyphen, I'm here for you. Let's just – let's just think for a moment.”  
  
The crematorium itself was visible through two arch-windows, unglassed, wrought in the black slabstone that seemed to permeate this place; and closer inspection hinted that those, too, were merely more graves placed tightly against one another.

Beyond, the everhungry fires roared their desire to be fed, even as they gulped down falling coffin after falling coffin.  
  
And never did the hunger seem to stop, and never did there seem to be an end to the fires, contained as they might be by the chamber itself.  
  
The heat radiating from the room was enough to cause his sweat to stick and fry to his skin, even from hear, though it was mercifully buoyed by the black rock, or perhaps some bizarre adaptation to this place.  
  
Hyphen, thankfully, seemed fine beyond her obvious terror.  
  
… And it was strange, how much he wanted more then anything for her to not be scared.  
  
“Okay, so, I'm going to go first. You stay here, and – “  
  
“That is a ridiculous plan. I am unphased, and this is heat and pressure. I am resistant to both. So I shall investigate.”  
  
“Please don't, Hyphen. I...”  
  
_What do you want to say?  
  
_ Gerald bit back the words, trying to look stoic.  
  
“I'm going to do this. I – you're the strongest inhabitant of your world, I'm the strongest inhabitant of mine. Nothing can touch us, can it?”  
  
And nothing roared from inside the charnel house, whispering into their minds as she let go of his hand, and spikes of bone or chitin extended from shoulders, and her eyes closed, one after the other – before opening in a mirror of the vacant black stone.  
  
“Nothing that will not learn to fear _us_.”


	9. E1M9 - CHTON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, god! 
> 
> How merciless it was to be cast into this place, to be devoured. 
> 
> But the unending gluttony has proven to be my advantage.  
> The beast is revered by the populace, or feared.  
> I have seen it, and it reacts to the sting of light, and that sword will be its downfall. I cannot kill it, but distracted, I may yet escape...  
> ~

The first thing she noticed was the note.  
And, though the paper should have burnt long ago, and not so long ago it would've been as illegible as the runes above the door, Hyphen _knew_ instinctively that it was a note, and that it had been written by one who spoke a language as Gerald did.  
Her excitement wavered as she skewered it, retrieved it, and _stuck it to his shoulder._

Gerald jumped, though only a little.  
His reflexes, though not sharp, were good. She had been lucky to find a soldier, and luckier still to find a soldier-who-was-not-a-soldier.  
  
“What the – don't go doing things like that before we march to our doom, Hyphen. I'm not in the right mental, right now. I don't... Is that paper?”  
  
“It seems to be material. Yes. We can read it later. But it was peculiar, and so I saved it.”  
  
He gulped in air (how strange it was, the way it hung in his throat, like a chunk of meat!) and gave her a curt nod.  
She wanted to mimic it, for how silly it looked, but now was most definitely not the time. The inferno chamber seemed designed to house some great beast, and she could appreciate the structure of **it.**  
  
First – there were catwalks, two rows of them, upon which a variety of conveyors had been fixed to catapult their grisly food to the fire below.  
Second – the way the heat radiated told her of the hollow below, and that something was sleeping within it.  
  
Something that ate greedily, even as it slept.

Something that would not stop eating, even if the coffins so carried to it were empty.  
  
[Something that would continue eating, continue burning away all that displeased even after it was long dead, mighty jaws pried open by horrible conveyances of metal and fire that forced food into the embalmed entity within.](http://other-atmospheres.ambient-mixer.com/more-dangerous-than-daybreak)  
  
… If only, perhaps, she had been drawn to the field of **dynamics** and not of **stases** , this would be something to celebrate, even in horror.  
But it was an organism and not yet dead, and that meant one thing...  
  
Her eyes shot to Gerald, who was barely breathing well. His sweat was being produced all too quickly, which she assumed meant that he wasn't capable of sustaining too long a time in this heat.

A momentary sorrow passed over her, that he might never know the comforting warmth of a lava vent, but there was nothing to be done, there.

With that weak, soft smile that his people must make to one another, he tried to reassure her with those multi-colored eyes of his.  
The white and the other color, blue, should have been disturbing.  
And yet they were not.  
  
“This isn't too bad. Just like a sauna. Do you think it's safe to try to make it to the other side?”  
  
He had to yell over the cacophony of fire and coffins being fed into it, but she knew he hadn't felt or noticed the great depression in the pit below; how could he, without the ability to sense heat, or depth?  
But that was fine; for all she knew, the creature already was dead, if it had ever been truly alive.  
  
And his question was valid, too.  
Beyond the catwalks was an elevator, one that seemed to go down, marked with a simple red arrow – crude enough that almost any might understand it.  
Perhaps that was some of the knowledge she'd gleaned from him filtering his mind in, but it was good knowledge; she welcomed it.  
  
“I do not think it is dangerous. We shall be careful. We shall go together!”  
  
She yelled back, teeth a storm of chitin – but it was one of those awful moments she had felt before, when she was barely capable of burrowing from the compression on her own.  
  
Before them, floating in the air, was a **THING.  
** What this was, she could not say.   
  
It was like nothing Hyphen had ever seen before, and might as well have been a pointless symbol, carved in the ground by one who was just making art, borne from deep and uninterrupted hibernation.  
... And yet there was purpose, and the purpose was old and primordial and terrifying.

Her chitin felt the ichorous earth call for blood and for food, and to it, all was blood, and all was food.  
There was a power there, too, a horrifying power that would not be satisfied by any amount of consumption.  
And the fire within it was not good, nor comforting.  
  
_It hungered._

Gerald, too, had seen the sigil.

She whispered, but it was her tongue, and it was quiet, and perhaps he did not want to hear.

He reached forward, entranced – and took the sigil into his outstretched palm.

From below, the magma opened up, and it pulled itself forward with a roar that came from no visible mouth; it had once had many mouths, before they had been subsumed and consumed by itself in that insatiable hunger.  
Still visible were the flaming shardscars where features had once been prominent, before they, too, had been eaten; and now all welted over and branded by fire.

Though it had no eyes, it stared at their figures, barely capable of reaching up to a hundredth of its dripping form...

And the roar turned into a loving and longing coo, hungry for the fresh food that had so long been denied it.

At once, Hyphen sprang into action, dodging the slam of its fist as it broke down unto the ground, sundering black stone and fire each.  
The stone missed, in a little victory of fortune, and the fire had no effect on her at all.

Gerald had thrown his hands over his head, though with her leap he had no need – the fire did not consume him, and she smiled fearlessly.  
Perhaps this was what it was like to risk your life for another, the thrill of battle...  
She would not praise it, but at the moment she felt invincible.

He came to his senses not a moment after, rolling to the side in the clunky manner of his people.  
But the great fist of the creature, formed from fire and shards of the many coffins that littered the chamber, gathered broken masonry – and hurled at him.

… As it was, human armor was less weak then she had imagined.  
His impractical defense bore the brunt of the blow well, and it only pushed him back somewhat, though Gerald was clearly winded. He did not attempt to counter with any kind of attack, merely running up towards the higher ground of one of the many catwalks.

She shut her eyes, and jumped up to join him, and soon they were running up across the girders of black, featureless material as if it were a childish game.

It was oddly exhilarating, and she felt herself laughing without feeling anything but that potent mixture of fear and confidence.  
Despite the rage of the creature that dwelled in the pit below, it was a clunky being, woken from a great many aeons of self-serving hunger.

… And, though he was loath to take a life, Gerald was not above protecting the sanctity of those passed.

With every hamhanded swing of its artificial 'limbs', the pitbeast ate the support beams and girders they fled from and to, choking on and releasing a fearful spittle of fireorbs and masonry chunks.  
And they could not run forever; Gerald already showing signs of strain from the heat and exhaustion, and Hyphen not being the strongest...  
  
Though it had been a pleasant, flattering compliment.

But as they reached the last catwalk, she threw herself against him, knocking them both to the ground near the elevator, and just narrowly free of the roiling fires below, so comforting to her and such anathema to him.

… The great false fire of the hungry mausoleum paused.

Outside of his angry flares, the chamber was now almost silent.  
No more coffins of black stone were fed from whatever strange and ominous chambers produced them.

Nor did the great fires hiss and bubble merrily, fed by the diet of material which perpetuated in turn their eternal hunger.

Horrified and enraged, the being roared and began to flail around the pit that served as its residence, its home and its prison, strands of loose flame drifting from its side...  
  
And flickering, and growing wan.

It became a race of sorts, around the sturdier perimeter that surrounded it.  
It was too slow and sloppy to catch Hyphen, even without the use of the _compression_ (not that she would resort to such madness here); and weakening fires were even less of a threat to her then before.

But Gerald could not keep up.  
  
She was always close by, attempting to distract the mindless rage of the beast and catch its attention, but its empty anger was enough to keep it unpredictable, and in that final deathrattle it vomited forth its own stomach, chunks of fire and stone and unidentifiable biomatter.

The torrid stream rocketed towards them both, pushing Hyphen back.  
Gerald tried to roll again – but rolling _was so stupid_ , and her mind screamed the million things he could do differently, and she froze knowing it would happen again, and being alone did not bother her but here _she would see a friend die_ and –

Fire had never bothered her.  
  
The planet had cool, pressurized vents and hot, relaxing vents. Many caves and vents, for all of its inhabitants.  
Hyphen had not seen a lifeform weak to fire.  
Her mind could imagine what would happen; the way his armor and materials would insulate and exacerbate the process underneath, while being resistant to melting themselves.

The charring of that soft, useless skin before it sloughed off cracking bones.

Her eyes shut.

…

Once again, the room was silent.

She opened her leftmost eye, cautiously.

Gerald's shoulder to his stomach were visible, cauterized and burning; but cauterized and burning from a heat that should have _incinerated him utterly._   
All three occupants of the room were silent, and the deep within her sung in joy – and then adrenaline returned.

But before either of them could return to the fray, the exhausting and cooling mass in the pit swung aimlessly at something above it; a generator, perhaps, though it appeared to be of a different make then the great belt that dragged so many dead to their final place, feeding this fiend.

And whatever it hit, light and electricity hummed merrily and ricocheted from side-to-side in a playful arc... And where the light stung, the entity exploded into chunks of gore and decaying mass sustained by whatever horrible, baleful fires had managed to keep it alive for its awful existence.

Finally, with one awful cry, the entity fell back against the perimeter walk... and fell, decaying rapidly, into the pit which had most likely birthed it – and the pit which now served as its tomb.

Silence engulfed them, and then Gerald rose up and punched the air and made the most ridiculous noise she had ever heard.  
  
Soft creature as he was, and wounded at that, he sounded far more triumphant then any being so grievously wounded, leaking that red ichor, had any right to be.  
But triumphant he was, even before he finally fell to the ground, sucking in air as if he were dying.

… _Was he dying_..?!

She leapt over, landing on all fours, chittering too quickly to say coherent words.  
Gerald held up one hand, glove completely burnt away besides strands of fabric fused to his skin – something would have to be done about that..! – and where his skin had gone from that of a pink tunneler's egg, to a charblack.

“I'm all right, I think. Ahaha, we did it, Hyphen. No more trouble from that guy. I don't know... Uh, I couldn't have done it...”  
  
“Quiet. Head down, please be still. Do not die, please...”  
  
“Can't kill me. I'm humanity's last hope...”  
  
“I do _not_! _Care about_! **_Humanity_!** ”  
  
“Oh, no – you really are part of the invasion force, aren't you?..”  
  
“What?..”  
  
He laughed, a little bitterly – his breath was very quiet, now. But it was regular. He would not die.  
She would make sure he did not die, ah, and that meant cutting things, she would see...  
  
“I'll – you, a lot of your people, or people like them... I think they were attacking us. Hyphen. I don't know, for certain. I don't know anything, anymore. But you seem decent, and I liked...”  
  
The spike she slid from under her wrist cut very cleanly. The fabric burnt to his skin was less of a priority then the metal bits, burnt to release unpleasant toxins that already would wound him, make his health less stable.  
What was the incidence of disease amongst his soft peoples?  
  
And – wait..?  
  
“Why would we invade you? You are nice, Gerald Copeman. I would not want to fight you.”  
  
His eyes stared at her.  
Such bizarre color, that blue. She would not see it again, most likely.  
Best to remember it, lock it into memory, so that future generations might know the color.

“Uhmn – I don't know either, but I also... Am I okay? I feel... Kind of like I can walk, aha... That... Why does that worry me, almost more, then the lack of pain...”  
  
Gerald was light, and Hyphen wondered for a moment if she might be able to carry him.  
The pride lasted only a moment as he braced that lightness against her, and she only just remembered to withdraw her skewers. They limped towards the elevator, which worked as reliably as any elevator might – even when it was built in a crypt of fire, now abandoned by its sole other living occupant.

“... I'm changing, Hyphen.”  
  
She said nothing at first, but noticed as she cut and re-cauterized how quickly the wounds sealed. They were not healed, and they would need to find medical treatment, but...  
There was no way he should have survived, nor heal so quickly at all.

“... Does it bother you...”  
  
How selfish that murmur sounded. The nervous click of her teeth would have been a giveaway if he knew, but Gerald was too wounded to listen, and still foreign to her, no matter how close they might yet seem. He laughed a little as the elevator descended, leaned up against the wall, and stared at her.

The alienness of hair was bizarre enough as it was, but amplified by the copper strands that grew from both his forehead and around his chin.  
Some had been burnt clear, but it was distinct. She would be the only one to see this damaged side of him for some time, or perhaps ever.  
It was a pride she might memorize and _not_ share, and she guarded it zealously.

And then he smiled.  
  
“Could be worse, I guess. I'm alive. We're alive... Hyphen! We're alive!”

The adrenaline had faded, replaced by laughter, bubbling and free. How could there be anything else after having escaped, and destroyed, such a monstrous entity?  
  
Monstrous – and perhaps sad.  
It might not have even recognized their presence as anything but food, if ever it had been sentient in the first place. Such a vast being without sapience would've been considered a tragic mistake, and perhaps here as in home, it was best for it to be disposed of.

… Was it possible that was the reason some of her people, might have been sighted at this 'invasion' Gerald spoke of...

“I'll guard you, Gerald.”  
  
She announced, feeling foolish. Adrenaline had left and she was aware just how badly she had 'fought' and how wounded she was herself.  
Much less so then he, but the mottled bruises in orange chitin hinted that she had not dodged quite as well as the singing lure of combat had implied, and the aching pain that refused to leave was a strong reminder that her calling had not been ferocity, but curiosity.

“My line. That's my line. Hyphen, I'm going to be okay. I want you to study the – uh...”  
  
“Yes. I have already decided on that. We must make sure it isn't going to. To turn you into some sort of monstrous entity I must destroy.”  
  
“Kill me if that happens.”  
  
“... I do not want to.”  
  
“But would you?”  
  
“Do you wish it...”  
  
The elevator clicked and a red light swathed everything in dark crimson tones. It was familiar, and comforting, and as it shone down upon them it seemed to wipe away some of the pain on his face; out of instinct she placed her hand upon his forehead.

Still it was coated with sweat and perspiration, but less then there had been before.  
Even though she knew her own body temperature was much higher then his, he did not recoil from her touch, nor show mild discomfort with it, as he had on occasion before.

… Hmrn. She did not know what to make of it, but his loose, slightly sad smile up at her in the red gloom was too much to bear.  
For here she was, with perhaps the lone last human, the first and the last she would ever have the joy of having known, and he was happy simply to be in her presence.

And though there was work to be done and her worries and fears had not left her, she felt the same.

“Gerald. I will go ahead a bit. Please wait here.”

“Promise I won't go finding more odd runes to take or horrible creatures to confront. ...Come back for me?”  
  
“I swear it.”  
  
And then she was off, scurrying on all fours as quickly as she could out the elevator door.  
  
Her body still ached, of course, but determination was an incredible motivator. And, outside the elevator was an odd blue light equally comforting as the red before; and it illuminated a strange antechamber, mechanical in a way she did not know the construction of... But seemingly unoccupied.  
  
There were four passageways, three of which had been blocked off.  
One with a cordon that smelled of something she could not name, had never experienced before.  
It was pleasant, and yet also threatening.

But one passageway remained open, ending in a very blue room with an equally blue machine that hummed with quiet energy.

… It would be safe here, and they would be safe here.

Loping back, she waited for a few moments before speaking.  
Gerald had half-fallen into something resembling sleep, breathing heavily and eyes closed.  
He was still smiling a little, and even as uniform and even as his teeth were, the gesture was pleasant. Friendly.

He cracked one eye, slightly swollen, open, and smiled further.

“What's the plan, Hyphen?”  
  
“I am going to carry you to a safe place, and we will rest a bit. And maybe I will tell you stories while you recover. Does that sound like a good plan?”  
  
“A very good plan, maybe the best. Can you help me up?”  
  
She could, though it was not so easy this time – her chitin was hissing at her in protest, and if she did not rest soon, she knew she would regret it.  
For some reason she felt certain that this place was not a danger to them – and if it was, they would be useless without some form of sleep, so she would risk it.  
  
Maybe even if she ended up staying awake for a moment. To watch over him, only for awhile.

But they limped to the blue room fairly easily, for it was not so far away, and she lay him carefully against the machine's side, using the mechanics of it as a brace. He sighed contentedly as if it were the smoothest stone creche, and not some barbed metal; perhaps that was the kind of bed he liked most, she mused idly.

“Can't believe it, feels like the advance squad must have gotten this far, at least. This is all my tech, Hyphen. Maybe there's no one here, but... It's heartening. Uhmn, and thank you kindly for helping get me here. I don't think...”  
  
“We did it together. Did we not.”  
  
“We did. I'll work on protecting you better, but... I think we can do this.”  
  
“We can..! We can!”  
  
She murmured with certainty, and he shot her one last look, that turned from an unusual smile she had not seen before to shock, and then open, quiet laughter.

He was looking at the machine he was resting against in a mixture of resignation and disbelief, and perhaps something almost akin to admiration for an old and well-worn friend...

“Careful, don't get too close to that until we've had a chance to rest for a bit, and avoid eating. The last thing you want to do is get into a scrape like we did, and then get your molecules hybridized with other molecules by the Kingsteen/Toivo device...”


	10. Blue Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concern has been shown for the immediate effects of the device. Not just in regards to the nature of those who return from a trip using it, but in regards to its effects on what we define as reality.  
> There are subtle effects, or tears, as we have chosen to call them, that seem to appear after so many uses. They are very small – for reference, imagine a hundredth of a hundredth of an atom.
> 
> So it is very unlikely that you will ever encounter one.
> 
> Now, regarding the remains of those who have physically interacted with one of these tears.  
> Appropriate measures have already been taken, and no better time to move to our next item...  
> ~

He woke up in a panic, expecting to feel pain.  
[The worst of it was that he felt nothing.](http://technical-other.ambient-mixer.com/modern-server-room)  
  
… Gerald blinked several times, shaking dust and sleep and skin from his eyes before finally accustoming to the light of the chamber.  
It was pale, and blue, and it seemed that Hyphen had stared at the lights until finally falling asleep.

She was still asleep beside him.  
  
While he'd ended up resting against the Kingsteen/Toivo device's side, she'd opted to curl around herself on the floor.  
All of her eyes were closed, and she did not snore, though her body radiated less heat then he was used to.  
But a familiar face, so next to his – not lost to the alien descent of this place – was comforting.

… And if she was the enemy?  
  
Perhaps it didn't matter, and perhaps there wasn't an 'Earth' worth fighting for, if it was left at all.  
Did that make him a collaborator, or, since they were both seemingly alone, here...

“No. I'm not going to draw lines in the sand, not yet. There still might be...”  
  
Gerald murmured to himself, flicking idly through radio feeds that did not respond.

Which lead to the second matter.

He rose, expecting to wince, and did not.

The Kingsteen/Toivo device loomed over them, humming with the same cold mechanical thrum that he remembered so clearly.  
It was an anomaly, and one that the future of humanity had been tasked to – and even if there were no other humans left, the device endured; in so many places and times, simultaneously, until all instances would simultaneously stop existing...  
Or perhaps not.  
  
A little more complicated then the electronics he'd sold, and probably more difficult to program than a VCR...  
Gerald grinned, even as he fought off the ensuing headache that thinking too much about the device brought on.  
They had been issued medication, of course; generic unbranded pain relievers.  
  
Now seemed a good as time as any to see if they had any effect...

The pills tasted almost sweet as he washed them down with a healthy helping of saliva, instant relief hanging in the air – and of course, doing little more then that.  
But the blue ambience here was calming, at least, and by turning his head away from the device, he could at least afford some measure of peace.

Once again, his gaze turned towards Hyphen.  
She did not move much in her sleep, either; perhaps what she was doing wasn't sleeping as they knew it.  
Gerald began to wonder if he might not mistake her for a corpse, had he wandered in on her in such a state...

The umber orange of her chitin was a little more pale then usual, and occasionally swelled with its familiar dark color.

A strange compulsion came over him, and he placed his hand against it – without thinking.

It was smoother then stone, and much more cool then normal; or perhaps he'd gotten used to her presence.  
The ridges of her shoulderblades had tiny indents where he could feel the hard nubs of bone, or perhaps some kind of exoskeleton; ready to spring forward at the moment's notice.

His fingers halted, and he hesitantly placed them to her forehead.  
The brown film that covered her eyes when she closed her eyes shook, slightly, but didn't waver.  
Gerald left his hand against her chitin; and over time, he began to realize he could feel, rather than hear, her breathing.

“Are you better?”

Gerald nodded, oddly unabashed.

“Have you been awake this entire time, Hyphen?”  
  
“I do not sleep easily in open places. They're very frightening, I find. If it were myself, alone, I would pry some of these wires away; hide in a wall vent. Perhaps...”  
  
“Uh, and you don't mind – “  
  
“No. It's rather comforting. Although I am still uncertain about your own recovery...”  
  
“Me too. Whatever happened, though, I feel like I could run a lap around the perimeter, do a few jumping jacks, and finish off by baking us a delicious breakfast.”  
  
Hyphen rose to her feet, shaking his hand off somewhat lazily before extending the spikes from her shoulders and wrists in what was clearly analogous to a yawn.  
  
“What, exactly, does that mean to you?”  
  
Gerald paused, trying to remember.  
He could vaguely recall the sizzle of baconfat, frying in a pan; freshly cut spinach greens and sweet iced tea, the scent of warm crusty bread with just a little butter, but...  
  
All the memories seemed vague, and jumbled up.

“I guess chocolate. Everybody loves chocolate where I'm from, except the poor people who've got allergies.”

“... So I see...”  
  
Hyphen murmured, eyes all open, now – and staring at him in an inquisitive black mask.  
  
“Meat of any kind is delicious, and much better then rocks or dirt or metal. I am not very picky.”  
  
“So I've gathered – but I hope premium unlabeled soup will hold us both for awhile longer.”  
  
The contents of the rations Masterson had given him had started to blend together too, though Gerald's constant reminiscing on how grateful he was managed to allay the worst of them. Without this food, he'd be dead in the alien landscape that was Elsewhere.  
So would Hyphen – possibly.

… Her method of eating the can, and the contents, was a bit disquieting, however.

An amusing sort of disquiet less dangerous then floating bags of gas and acid, beasts of raw fire and death, or any of the million other things that seemed to want them dead, however.

Two of her eyes fixed on him again, unblinking black.

“What happens when it does not?”  
  
“Sorry..?”  
  
“I can subsist on most anything. What about you, Gerald?”

“Uh...”  
  
There was something genuinely disquieting, and something he'd given all too much thought to. They had enough food for a week or so, far as he counted; perhaps a bit less with what'd ruined or blackened from exposure to extreme heat and pressure.  
Water he was running low on, but he felt oddly unworried about; perhaps less thirsty then he had felt in his life.

“I do not need to eat anymore. From here on, please do not share your food with me.”  
  
“Hyphen, it's fine – I don't mind. We can always...”  
  
What?  
Try to eat the dead? The only things that'd had meat on them where the remains of his fellow soldiers, and the corpse-things that Masterson had collected.  
He wasn't going to resort to homophagy, even if they weren't truly human, or never had been.

Aside from that...  
  
“Please.”  
  
Her voice was firm, and it occurred to him that she rarely phrased anything as a question. Whether it was self-assurance or some quirk of her language, it was reassuring, and Gerald ran a hand through his hair before responding.

“... All right, thanks. I'll be relying on your generosity, but let's keep our eyes open for anything you or I can eat, better still if it's something we can take with us. I don't want to rely on these rations too much, anyway. They'll last a long while, barring outside events. Any we can save, that's more food for us down the line.”  
  
She smiled a toothy smile – the jagged outlines of her rows of shark-like teeth projecting the sincerest happiness.

“Thank you, Gerald. Dying to feed me does not seem very fitting, given what we have faced.”  
  
“Hey, hey! I should be thanking you, ma'am. That was pretty great, back there – I wouldn't have expected it from when I first met you – “  
  
“I was cornered; we had no option. Don't mistake my desperation for bravery!”

She laughed again, that clattering, bone-accented laugh that he could more easily envision than the laughter of another human.  
He ran his fingers through his hair again, wondering if there might be some way he could tame it...

“Do you mind? If I touch it.”  
  
“No, please, go ahead; turnabout is fair play, and I understand your curiosity.”  
  
He really did, too – it was just visible as nervous excitement that she hid by pretending to saunter around him. Her natural movement was fluid, and somewhat random-seeming; Hyphen liked to stay in motion, or perhaps conceal her thoughts by doing so...

The feel of her warm fingers feeling up his scalp as if it were some kind of strange and alien insect was rather unusual though – but the kind of light-hearted reprieve he felt he hadn't experienced since he arrived.  
Closing his eyes, Gerald sighed, and tried to remember...  
  
“Would you like me to try to cut it? You seemed concerned. About its growth...”  
  
Opening one eye, Gerald stared at the slightly quivering six-foot, carapace-clad entity in front of him.  
Her nervous excitement had reached fever pitch, and where a human might have had the courtesy to hide it, Hyphen was practically skipping from foot to foot, in place.

“Can I have your solemn swear you won't lop an ear off?”  
  
“Yesyesyes. _Yes_!”

“Doesn't sound too reassuring, but knock yourself out. I'll be the first guy to say he has an... Er? Is there a name for your people?”  
  
Hyphen howled a series of syllables from deep within her throat; they sounded insectlike and unpronounceable to him, but damned if he wasn't going to try – in the name of interworld diplomacy.  
She shook her head as his first fumbling try failed, blades already free from her wrists.

“No, no. From Deimos, so Deiman would be fine. Please hold still. I do not want to...”  
  
But he couldn't stop laughing, because _how perfect was that?_ Of course they were Deimans. Deimians, maybe it'd just be easier to call her a demon and be done with it...

Hyphen paused, consternation visible even on the alien rictus of her lipless face.

“Are you done. Because this is not so amusing...”  
  
He forced himself to stop laughing, and outside of the quiet susurration of the Kingsteen/Toivo device, the room was entirely silent.  
A strange sense of peace came over him as Hyphen dutifully and meticulously set about her work, and he closed his eyes once more.

The sound of cut hair falling to the floor, interrupted only by the occasional pause, was almost a lullaby.

“I'm done. Do not judge my work too much. An amateur at any craft makes mistakes, of course. _AHAHAHAHA_...”  
  
“Why didn't you touch my beard? It must look absolutely awful, now...”  
  
“I refuse.”  
  
Yawning, Gerald opened his eyes to see Hyphen staring at him with a fixated gaze, all abyssal eyes unmoving from his face.  
Raising a hand to his head, he could feel the close shave; she'd pared his hair down so that it was short, but even.  
He probably wouldn't have chosen the look himself, before the military life found him, but...

“Great work, thank you kindly. I can't believe I'm not burned, though; that fire...”  
  
“It is unusual, yes. Your burning seems to have subsided, rather then scarring up. I cannot imagine that is normal.”  
  
Sighing, Gerald stared towards the device, finding his reflection unnerving in the pale blue sheen of its metal.  
His face seemed to twist and dance in front of him, and he did his best to ignore it – before taking some strength from the fact that Hyphen's work looked decent, and there was something uplifting about that.

“We probably should move on, but we'll wait for a bit. If I'd been thinking, we'd have avoided eating entirely. The jumps take a lot out of you, uh, literally...”  
  
“I am not worried. We will find more food there. We can rest there. Wherever there may be.”  
  
Her reassuring confidence bolstered his own, and Gerald rose to his feet – leaning against his shotgun.

“Right, well – I'll go first, so you know what you're getting into. Don't come after me until you're ready; they always end up going to the next in the 'line' or at least, that's the idea. I don't know how it is, anymore... Just – “  
  
“I will come after you.”  
  
Hyphen whispered.

“... Thanks. Until then.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
A weird, crushing silence fell over the room, and Gerald realized he was shaking. Every fiber of his being, so full of courage after having put an end to the beast they had fought earlier, was now protesting, begging him not to set foot in the machine.

What if the journey failed, as they occasionally did?  
What if she didn't choose to come after him?  
What if she did – and they were separated...  
  
He couldn't bear...

His eyes shut, trying not to think of the awful loneliness of this place, surrounded only by death, and monsters, and beings entirely alien despite the similarities of their appearance.

Then, with all the courage he could muster, he leapt forward into the sweet and disintegrating embrace of the Kingsteen/Toivo device, almost welcoming the feeling of his essence being removed in layers and replaced with a perfect and pure oblivion.

 


	11. E2M1 - He, the Victor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long journey, you finally return to your home. 
> 
> The sounds, the scents, and the appearance; all are impossible to recognize.  
> You find yourself craving the things you found on your journey, to the point that it begins to destroy you.  
> Which has changed - your home, or your self?  
> ~

Jolt after jolt of pain shot through Gerald as he sputtered into existence, coughing up rotten food and chunks of matter and stale air that had been forced into his recreated flesh.  
The nausea passed, the tears of pain passed, and finally the dry heaving passed, leaving only his blurry vision as proof of his travel.

[But in time, even that faded in the dim, almost familiar electric light.](http://science-fiction.ambient-mixer.com/abandoned-space-station)

The location felt even more akin to home then the gardens he had met Sunny in; the walls were less amateurishly constructed, with none of the strange half-painted terminals that were so obviously fake.  
And stranger still, he felt better now then he had upon stepping into the device...  
  
His wounds were, so far as Gerald could see, entirely healed.

The halls around him still felt artificial, to be sure – created by alien hands to resemble his memories of the place he had known and called Earth, but unable to duplicate it entirely.  
_Or perhaps_ , the idea intruded itself seductively, forces from Earth had established this listening post in the depths of Elsewhere, using only what materials they found upon arriving, and had managed to cling to life even in these alien realms.

And his heart began to beat faster in pale hope, even though he was doing his best to mask it.

Stepping off of the Kingsteen/Toivo device and fighting the last pangs of numb-headedness, Gerald all but ran into the next room, ignoring the familiar whistle of powered doors as they welcomed him.

Humans, perhaps other living humans, perhaps still with a connection to Earth.  
Friendly faces that held ordinary stories and perhaps even news about family, about his family – about anything, anything but this unreal hell..!

The large overpass welcoming him dispelled the idea in an instant.

Shambling figures, the same kind he had seen earlier, the same kind that Sunny had dispatched without a second thought, lumbered towards him.  
They seemed freshly dead and almost sentient, with only a few deep wounds and poking traces of bone to hint that they had long since lost all cognizance.

One even grappled at its radio, and Gerald halfheartedly did the same; his ears were assaulted by a string of meaningless, pained whimperings, guttural howls, and the roar of indecipherable static.

He'd already hid behind a corridor as one of the reanimated grunts readied a shotgun, and the other precariously hoisted a device the likes of which Gerald had never seen.

At this range, ducking and covering wasn't going to do much.  
Throwing up his arms in the hope of shielding whatever blast would come, Gerald was greeted by the rapid retort of gunfire. Once – then again, and then silence.

… Lowering his hands, he stared out into the promenade, lined with blue water that had far overcome whatever bounds there had been in the water purification system to near-flood the room.  
  
Standing over the corpses, so riddled with bullets that they could no longer function, **he** stood.

His armor had been patched and repaired so many times that under the coating of viscous slimes, ichors, and his own blood, it was impossible to tell what it had originally looked like. Multiple weapons were strapped to his back, to his side, under his arm; there was no apparent room for supplies of any kind

His posture was strong and prepared even as he carelessly rooted through the freshly downed enemies, picking through their belongings and guts as if he couldn't even see Gerald. He dismissively took several cells from the grunt with the unknown weapon, throwing it out with a dismissive murmur from behind his mask, accented by the hiss of his powered armor.

Finally, he turned, replacing the chain-gun he'd used to his side. Approaching Gerald calmly, his visor rolled up – and almost instantly, Gerald recognized the familiar, bloodshot eyes...  
If not the happy, almost serene, smile.

“Copeman. Can't say I'm surprised you survive, but I guess I better start respecting you more, now.”  
  
“Marine..?”

Gerald stumbled, trying desperately to remember the name of the man who had entered into the device before him.  
This seemed almost a completely different human being, one entirely at ease in his own skin, and prepared for anything that Elsewhere might throw at him...

And, perhaps, living for it.

“I had a name, once. Victor'll work, for now. You still using that old thing..? What'd I tell you – a real man needs only a pistol. I was wrong about that, but like me, you'll adapt. Here.”  
  
The man – Victor – unstrapped a sawed-off shotgun from his side, and tossed it easily to Gerald – who caught it with an ease that seemed unpleasantly natural. It was a much larger caliber, and both barrels seemed hungry, if a gun could be hungry – unlike the armor he carried with him, Victor had taken great care with the shotgun, and perhaps with all his weapons.

“It'll serve you well, same as me. What are you doing here?”  
  
“Surviving, or trying to – and as long I'm surviving, trying to complete our mission.”

_What else is there to do?_   
  
Gerald's mind screamed, but somehow he felt like speaking those words would be a death sentence.  
Thankfully, Victor – who seemed far more respectful of him, now, gave a curt nod.

“I've been through countless worlds, Copeman. Countless beautiful worlds. Each ones filled with the enemy. I thought I was going to die, at first. At first.”  
  
His smile vanished as his visor rolled back up, hiding all but those bloodshot eyes; and then, even those were gone.

“... But I've survived. Thrived, even. This was what I was meant for, Copeman; the event was a blessing. The invasion was a blessing..!”

“I'm looking for someone. Please...”  
  
“An escort, huh? Haven't done one of those yet. It could kill some time. I'll help you find them, if I can. Stay close. I see anything moving, I have a tendency to kill it.”  
  
Gerald nodded and took a position behind Victor, whose reply, muffled by his visor, had seemed oddly distant – already planning for the world he would find next.

As for the next few minutes, they passed in a blur.  
What would've taken Gerald hours of exploration and conversation vanished in a matter of minutes.  
Victor seemed to know the location of every undead sniper, every lever, every terminal.

There was a nook hidden in the flooded waters underneath the installation – with a practiced ease, Victor dove into the water, armor and all, and resurfaced...  
With a full extra suit of it, new and bright red.  
  
It looked incredibly impractical, but that was the least of Gerald's worries at the moment.  
Victor foisted the armor at him insistently.

“Take this, Copeman. I can't use anymore; I've customized this as much as I can. This one looks like it'll suit you better then those torn, charred shards. Kill something big?”  
  
Gerald's stomach felt ill again – he _had_ , hadn't he? Perhaps it had been out of necessity, but – there it was.  
The first, hesitant step.

With a sigh, and a curt nod, he accepted the armor – nearly dropping it as he did.  
It was heavy, and it was clear that Victor's own suit was powered to help him lift it.  
… And as Gerald donned the armor, Victor waiting patiently, it became clear that this one was, as well.

“Woah...”  
  
Gerald murmured as the area around him lit up, the hud-assisted readout pointing out every possible area of interest, his own and Victor's presumed vitals, an autosurvey of certain items who had properties that could be useful as weapons...

“Great, isn't it? _God!_ But we could have used this from the start... We must have wanted to lose. No matter. You're in the winning team, now, your own team. Our team.”

“Yeah...”  
  
Gerald muttered as a weak reply, and even though he couldn't see Victor's face from behind that visor...  
  
He _knew_ the man was smiling.

“Yeah. _Hell_ yeah. Hehe. I'm going to leave you on your own, Gerald. I think I've killed everything here. Nothing left for me, and I can tell you're going to need some getting used to the user interface.”

“Is there another device, up ahead..?”  
  
“Almost certainly. That's not how I travel, though. I – I don't know how to describe it. It happened when I was in another realm. Something happened to me, Copeman. Something glorious. And now, I can feel these, these hooks in my body. And when it's time to go...”  
  
Victor went reverently silent.

“... I'll be seeing you, Copeman. I look forward to hearing about your next conquests.”

Then Victor faded into his own shadow, and was no more.

Gerald rolled his visor down, removed his helmet, and took several deep breaths.

All around them were the ruined bodies of former humans, so decimated by chaingun and some sort of charring fire that one of Victor's weapons had emitted that it was barely possible to recognize them as humans, or even former humans.

Nothing more then meat. Everything in this chamber was nothing more then meat.

The walls seemed to close in on him, their mindless automation continuing even under damage from stray rounds of whatever that fire had been, and even with none to continue their monitoring.  
Like the Kingsteen/Toivo device, they would continue to do so – at least so long as this place remained powered.

“Gerald..?”

Fear and hatred disappeared almost as quickly as they had come. Gerald swept the exhaustion from his eyes and rose haltingly to his feet.  
Hyphen was loping towards him, looking around in awe – and, not unlike the first time they'd met...  
  
Terror.

Her eyes bore into his, and he assumed with a churning bout of self-loathing what she was assuming.

“I didn't do this. I didn't do any of this...”  
  
But his assumptions were mistaken, and Hyphen's fingers propped his head back. It was a strange gesture, but he knew almost at once it was meant to comfort him.

“Do not worry. I know you would not. But it is – there are so many...”  
  
“A man, a man was here. Like me. Dangerous, I think, and he – if you meet him, you need to hide. I don't think he'd think twice about killing you. I'm amazed he didn't kill me.”  
  
And then, Gerald mumbled something – it stuck in his throat, before finally breaking free.

“You came back for me, Hyphen.”  
  
“Did I not say I would?”  
  
“It's just – so many, everyone I've met, I've either left or they've left me. And you – you came back for me.”  
  
“I do not wish to be alone either. And I would not abandon you in this place. And – maybe I enjoy your company.”  
  
Though it was hard to laugh in this room of machinery and corpses, that only made it easier to laugh; and when he started laughing, Gerald felt like years of mental exhaustion were being cut away with a surgeon's scalpel. Hyphen cooed, gently – then began stroking his beard with an extremely amused grin.

“Or maybe you just like my beard, ma'am. I'll have to cut it off someday, so don't grow too attached.”  
  
“No, please do not...”  
  
“Don't worry. I can grow it back. It's just a habit – my... My, uh...”  
  
Had it been his father? His father had said, a man should always...  
_What had he said, again..?_  
  
“Well. It's not important.”  
  
Something Victor had said had began to work itself into the back of his mind, and Gerald could feel it stirring and setting up hooks.  
The rune he had taken earlier, alien and unknowable, was nestled away in his shirt, crushed against his rib under the new armor he wore...

And it was whispering to him, more gently then any human new, almost more gently then Hyphen.

There was another one, here.

And it wanted to join its mate.

“Gerald..?”  
  
“I think there's another sigil up ahead. Uh, you had mentioned earlier wanting to take a look at the one I found? A minute, this stuff is really clunky...”  
  
“Oh, but I like it. It is good for a soft creature like you to armor yourself. That way you will absolutely not die! Red like that also suits your skin. Removing it makes your skin stand out more. _AHAHAHAHA!”_

“What does that even mean, Hyphen...”  
  
Gerald mumbled, smiling despite himself.  
His fingers netted the rune, and it buried itself there, pliantly; but unresistant to his gesture as he held it to the demon scientist. Hyphen held it up to the light, and nodded.

“You asked at a good time. You see – the device you constructed. The device we traveled on.”  
  
“The Kingsteen/Toivo device?”  
  
“Yes! Yes, it's very similar to – well, it's easier for me to show you. Please wait.”  
  
For the second time, someone stepped into their own shadow.  
Hyphen _was_ one moment, and _wasn't_ the next.

When she reappeared behind him in a roar of steam and the smell of what was unmistakably brimstone...  
  
Gerald was surprised to realize how little it phased him.

“Criminy, Hyphen...”  
  
“Hmnhmn. We do not do it so often; compression is painful and dangerous. Good for ambushing food, when our species was young. But we grow machines, and these grown machines are very much like your Kingsteen/Toivo device.”  
  
She was talking rapidly as they began to walk down the empty hallways of the ruined installation. Gerald was able to easily avoid stepping on the corpses of his once-fellow humans with the aid of his re-donned visor, and Hyphen seemed capable of understanding his expression through it...  
Which he wasn't sure how he felt about.

As for her, she stepped on or over them without care for the dead and the crunch of bone, so great was her excitement.

“I think this thing, this sigil, is similar. Something old, older then my people and yours. Very powerful. Designed to do something, interact with something far in the future. I think, Gerald, it was designed to interface with you.”  
  
“ _Uhhhhh_?”

Gerald blanched through his visor, pausing to roll it down.  
Hyphen had finished walking, pausing in the shadow of an overhanging monitor broadcasting sparks and shadow, both.  
In that gloom, he could see all eight of her eyes.

… He could see her excitement, her hope.

Her _optimism._

“ _Yes!_ Yes yes yes! You see, the heat resistance was one thing. But you're stronger now. This one seems linked to earth. Stone. Perhaps the others will effect you more, or may be designed for my people. But if you change...”  
  
“What if I change?”

And her eyes glistened, tiny spheres of blackness. No light came from within them, but as the sparks fell it seemed trapped there, swirling as if at the edge of some hungry precipice.

“... I am uncertain. I have spoke too freely.”  
  
“No – this was good to know. Thank you, Hyphen. I reckon... I think I need some time to think about this. We should probably still look for these, though. I don't think... I don't want to think about Victor getting to them, first.”  
  
The rune whispered to him as she returned it to him, and his soul knew that it did not want that – more then anything else, the idea of Victor, craving blood and death and armed with the secret knowledge of an alien dimension...

“If we can find a place more alive, more organic. We will stop, and I shall do tests. For now – let us be cautious. If that man is named Victor, I prefer Geralds to Victors.”  
  
“That's a name, not a title, Hyphen.”  
  
But perhaps it was, after all – and they were silent as they strode onwards.  
Whatever the outpost had been founded as, it seemed to fit Masterson's narrative that there had been multiple abortive attempts at handling the incursions from Elsewhere; that a shadow war, or conflicts, had long been fought between it and the people of Earth.

What little remained unsullied by Victor's rampage were scraps of uniforms that seemed slightly more old-fashioned then what he'd seen back home, but Gerald felt certain had been better provisioned.  
He kept one eye open for any food – but there was nothing, not even rotting matter, as his new visor helpfully informed him.

But what there was, at the tail-end of the outpost, was a gigantic storage room – packed to the gills with crates that had long been emptied of any useful materials; and beyond that, an elevator rising up to a laser-defense grid firing pointlessly at singed targets on the wall, and posing no threat to anyone save for the terminally curious.

Gerald instinctively shot a glance at Hyphen, who was staring at it carefully, and critically.

“Your people use so many kinds of weapons. Why.”  
  
“We didn't know what was waiting for us here; we generally favor guns because, uh, they're cheap to make and kill most everything on our world dead.”  
  
“... I have a hobby. Do not assume it – “  
  
“Whatever you are about to say, I'm not really an assumer. Are scientists not allowed to have hobbies on Deimos?”  
  
“No.”

Hyphen was dead silent, and whatever that meant, she clearly did not want to think about it further.  
When next she spoke, her tone was lower then the high trill of her excited chitterings; conspiratorial, a secret for only the two of them to know, and to treasure.

“Sometimes I go to the rising vents, and I watch the steam escape from them. Once, I think our world had a sky, and perhaps even an atmosphere. It does not, anymore. But I have often imagined what it might have looked like.”

“Hyphen...”  
  
“Someday, I would like to see your world. Even if the sky is red now, even if the atmosphere is not what you remembered it as. A world where so many people devote so much effort to becoming strong...”  
  
“Why the focus on that? Strength isn't just power, Hyphen...”  
  
“Yes, it is. **Always**. And with strength, you can do good things. Say what is to be studied, and what is not to be studied. What is to be fought, and what is allowed to live. It is the same on every world.”  
  
“And how many worlds have you been to?”  
  
Perhaps it was more angry then he'd intended, or perhaps just frustrated with the sentiment he didn't quite share, but Hyphen's expression was more embarrassed then angry – much to his relief.  
An apology was halfway to his lips when she replied, voice barely audible –  
  
“One. Before this. But I still believe it.”  
  
A fierceness crept into her voice, and with it, the air began to feel somewhat close – dry, and almost strangling.  
He could feel the sweat creep down his spine, sticking to his skin where his armor pushed down against it, and he wanted to challenge the statement by her – a statement which seemed so arrogant, and so ultimately wrong.

No – perhaps more than that, he wanted to challenge _her_.

It was a new and alien feeling, and exhilarating. It took him a few moments to clear his head, but when he had... Hyphen was staring at him, intently.

Her chittering laughter was not only amused, it was... _Something else._

Feeling uncertain, Gerald coughed, and tried to massage his temple – an armored glove met an armored helmet, and not for the second time, Gerald felt a stranger in his own skin.

“Right, well, putting that aside... I don't want to exercise just strength here. I feel like – I'm going a little odd in the head, Hyphen. What do you think about that – oh, wow...”  
  
Gerald trailed off as he beheld what, perhaps, the laser grid had been built to protect in the first place.

A huge wooden door-arch, topped by an arch of runic inscriptions which he could not read, stood watch over them.

In place of several runes were severed, flattened, and tanned human hides – flayed and kept fresh by some expert technique, or something darker still.

“I guess we have to go through it, don't we...”  
  
“We do not have to. But we are together, and that is a comfort to me. We may wait here, if you need. I will wait until you are ready.”  
  
“Ah, haha. Hyphen, I don't think I'm going to calm down by waiting here, amongst the dead and the machinery. We might as well press on... Although, thank you. I can't believe I'm feeling nostalgic for the Kingsteen/Toivo device chamber...”  
  
“When your hair grows out again, we can pause. And I will cut it again..!”  
  
“That'll just make you feel better. It won't help me.”  
  
“Ah...”  
  
“I mean, it'll help my psyche loads, Hyphen. But what about you? Is there something I can do for you?”

Hyphen paused, before stretching languidly in the darkness. Her long arms cradled her face in a swathe of orange, and not even the inky black pools of her eyes were visible. Though her breath was all but inaudible – if she even breathed with her mouth – it seemed as if she had gone very still, and Gerald felt the tension return, again.

Slowly, Hyphen lowered her arms to her waist. Occasionally, through the carapace of her fingers, a strand of the rows of teeth composing her smile were visible, but only for a moment. When finally her smile was revealed, she had resumed a neutral expression – even for her alien face, cautiously so.

And then she loped out of the shadows at half-height, sauntering around him appraisingly.  
Her silence made the tension heighten, and he could feel it threatening to break. Finally, she returned to her normal height, and her normal expression, and he felt some of the heaviness in his breathing give way.  
  
“... Challenge me, more often. And if you want to refer to me as strong as well. That too, I do not mind.”  
  
But more of it still clung, and sunk beneath his skin, and he suddenly realized how close Hyphen had drawn – and how inhuman her skinless smooth face was.

And how that made him felt –  
  
“For now, we should continue. You are right to move on. We could do something here, I think, but there are no rocks for cairns. No fire for cremations.”  
  
“Oh, uh, yeah... No ground for graves, either.”  
  
And he tried to hide his nervousness by remembering the corpses, and what was to be done to honor them – but at the moment, he had _forgotten their presence entirely._  
Unable to say anything else, he forced the wooden arch open, and walked inside it – doing his level best to ignore the demon pacing easily at his side, watching him, watching her...

 


	12. E2M2 - Chopping Block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are three impulses that keep you going. 
> 
> The will to live. 
> 
> The desire to kill. 
> 
> The hope you'll fuck.
> 
> And that's it – that's all there is to life. Me, all I care about, all I've ever cared about is the second.  
> You can disregard the rest. Once you've taken your first life, the other two don't matter much, anymore.  
> ~

The archway had obviously been carved by crude tools and cruder hands.  
It led into what seemed like a protected port, covered by a cavernous roof and manned by a sole sentry, wielding a blade and covered in rust...  
  
[Or blood.](http://environment-other.ambient-mixer.com/distressed-tomb)

At the sound of their arrival, the lone knight turned and charged towards them – only to be incinerated by a well-thrown ball of Hyphen's fire.  
Gerald found himself entranced by the way the heat consumed first the iron shell of the armor, then worked its way inward, tracing fine wormways in vulnerabilities in the metal, until it was nothing more then a patchwork of ash.  
  
It appeared the armor was little more then an empty shell, and whatever force controlled it – or possibly all such armors in Elsewhere – had left the moment it was too damaged to operate further.  
  
Hyphen was still staring at him, intently.  
She walked differently now – her spikes were fully extended, and she stood only slightly hunched over, walking with an unmistakable swagger that suited her.

Gerald took a few breaths, then a few more.

Around them, more crates had been gathered; labeled with an insignia that looked almost like an eagle, or some other large bird of prey.  
They'd been meticulously emptied, but whomever had, had clearly done so recently.  
Not even a layer of dust remained.

“I do not care for this place. The air is damp.”  
  
“Do you not like water?”

“Not too much, too cold. I cannot breathe when I am fully submerged for too long. Please protect me.”  
  
It was such a silly statement, because who could breathe underwater – but then it occurred to him that it wouldn't have really surprised him to learn that she could, for after all, did her people not live in firepits and lava vents, and heaven knew what else..?  
  
“Of course. If you'll do the same for me.”

He hesitated, before submerging the doubts desperately trying to warn him of all the rationale and danger in what he was encouraging, right now.  
  
“Since, after all, you're so strong.”  
  
And Hyphen's spikes fanned out behind her back, mimicking the toothy rows of her smile.  
Their bone-sharp serrations cut through the air as she flitted behind him – saying nothing.  
  
Beyond the protected cavernous port lay the citadel; carved of blue rock that hurt to look at directly, a blue so light as to straddle the line between white, violet, and a nameless color that filtered in from a word Hyphen's people knew.

“What a dangerous obstacle. This is the second castle you have met, then..?”  
  
“Second if you count this as a castle, and third if you count that obsidian palace I met you in. This though – it seems more like some mustering point, for an army or something. Don't you think?”  
  
Hyphen hesitated before nodding, her many eyes dancing from point to point, looking for some way in.  
The analytical darkness of them finally drew back to him, and he was almost glad to be discussing tactics and strategy, rather than _anything else._  
  
... _Almost._  
  
“Yes. Whatever powers inhabit this place, it seems they did not take kindly to your outpost. I do not know... Why so many people are against your people.”  
  
“Maybe we did bring it on ourselves. Maybe Masterson was right. Maybe Masterson was right about – about everything.”  
  
The crushing weight of it all descended on him all too quickly, sickening in it's intensity.  
Had Masterson been trying to prepare him for all of this?  
For the unhealthy ease of adapting into Elsewhere, and the – the _matters_ that came with it?  
  
Had his cynicism and his other qualities been, above all else... Truth?  
  
Hyphen bounded over, and it was if a change had come over her – her spikes withdrew, last of all those that slid from her wrists, and he was suddenly, painfully aware of what she must be grappling with, too.  
  
“I am sorry. I have been very foolish. So very foolish. But no! No matter what, the man you are is not the man Masterson is. Seems to be. And the qualities I admire in you. I should not have – I should not.”  
  
She seemed incredibly non-plussed as he embraced her, because of course wrapping your arms around another is a human gesture, likely alien to the people of Deimos... if that was truly where her kind hailed from.

But though she did not understand the gesture, she _did_ understand the intent, and slowly Hyphen embraced him back, teeth grinding softly against one another in a manner that somehow sounded like a hummingbird trilling.

“No, Hyphen – I've been feeling so overcome by all of this. I think I can live with being the last human left, if I am. But being unable to save anyone, and not being able to even think of them as human anymore, not being able to bury anyone, not being able to do, to do _anything_...!”

And he wanted to curse his god, and to cry, and perhaps just to sleep.  
But the smoothness of Hyphen's arms around his back was comforting, as was the feeling of her breathing, even when she did not seem to breath at all.

“I do understand. This I understand – entirely. We should take a break, shouldn't we...”  
  
“Uh. I think I'll be all right, so long as you stick with me. I was quite serious about all the praise I've been heaping on you...”  
  
“I know. I should compliment _you_ more often. You do deserve it.”  
  
Her arms drifted up and down his back autonomously, not quite sure what to do. For a minute he thought she might tip him over, and the thought brought a chuckle to him inwardly – but Hyphen instead detached and began to hop excitedly, landing on all fours.

“Aha! Idea. The moat below – far below. Dangerous, obviously. Likely a trap. But what if we cut the crates, and made a bridge? Scaled the castle! Mustering point, or, whatever it may be?”  
  
“That is – “

And he looked at the delicate way her blades slid from her wrists, and it seemed an incredibly workable idea.  
He couldn't help but like the title of Gerald Copeman – Castle Conquerer, even if it really didn't seem like a castle, and even if he'd already earned it...  
Technically.

They spent the next hour hauling boxes down, where Hyphen sliced them into thin planks. The paltry grass that grew here was thin, reedy, and tough...  
And made a fantastic rope when knit. Soon, surprisingly soon, they had a bridge sturdy enough to carry the both of them without faltering.  
  
Hyphen made a clumsy leap across, barely managing to stick to the wall of the citadel; her skittering movements ground to a halt as she dug her spikes into the masonry, and for a terrible moment he felt certain that she was going to fall down into the moat – and whatever so obviously was laying in wait within it.

But her shoulderblade's shoulder blades were strong enough to keep her from falling any further, and she shot him a nervous, chittering smile that was only just visible in the distance. Running forward with all the strength afforded to him by his new armor, Gerald threw the bridge – watching as she cast her free arm for it, barely catching it between dusky-orange fingers.

Plummeting bits of masonry splashed into the turgid waters below as, finally, Hyphen carved out enough room to string the bridge up, and dropped down onto it not soon after.  
His careful walk out to meet her was punctuated by the sudden awareness that below them, from the moat itself, a wave of constant and unquiet sound was coming.

Sound that appeared to be _pleading_.

Forcing himself to ignore the sound, at least for now, he gave Hyphen a thumb's up – which she did not return, only bobbing her head to the side in confusion.

“It means, good work. We're across the moat, so now all we've yet to do is break the beast open!”

'The beast' meant the door, and the door opened as if on instinct – lowered by the mass of solid muscleflesh running towards them, screaming in a deceptively high tone that perfectly fit the pleading whispers from before and then faded into a low growl....  
  
Before devolving into an even-keeled giggle.

The creature was compact, and wide, and had few discerning features.  
Under lumps of fat and muscle tiny eyeslits were only just visible; it seemed to have a chainsaw bound to a bloodied stump on its right hand, and carried what was clearly a grenade launcher built for two in the massive haunch of its left.

But, blinded by anger, they barely need to do anything but scamper off the bridge and out of the way – as the creature, so huge and unwieldy itself, set foot upon it and split the bridge entirely.  
It fell, screaming and howling in anger and fear, chainsaw still mid-swing.

The viscera of its mass splattering as it hit the water, and the accompanying crunch, were more then enough to reawaken the sickness that Gerald had thought he'd managed to subsume.

“Guess we keep going. Was that something from your realm?”  
  
“No...”  
  
Hyphen whispered, all pretense of courage and strength gone. Her umber skin had faded a more pale orange, and her fingers were raised to her rows of teeth as if to cover them like one might cover their eyes.

“Do you think. That there are more of those. Inside...”  
  
“I certainly hope not. They seem completely impossible to negotiate with, and I don't like our odds in a fight. What do you think we try scaling the walls more?”  
  
“No, no. I'd be able to do it on my own. I am _NOT_ leaving you. Not here.”  
  
“Then what's the plan?”  
  
“Let us hope the darkness will protect us.”  
  
It was not the best plan she'd had, but what choice did they have?  
Gerald bit his tongue, and they entered into the ghastly blue-white castle.  
It was truly a keep, or perhaps more analogous to the human outpost they'd just walked through.  
  
Various tapestries, arms, and armors lined the walls – some ancient, but most surprisingly modern.  
All were unusable due to rust and disrepair, or obviously intended for some ceremonial function.

As for the occupants...

The trail of death was not as sudden or violent as Victor's, and it looked like whomever had come before them had taken several wounds themselves – human wounds, or human-like, if the patches of red blood were to be believed.

Excitement was tempered by caution in Gerald's mind.  
It seemed like most of the humans they'd met were overcome by the strangeness of this place, and he was not going to put Hyphen at risk because he wanted to see another human face.

“This sure seems fortunate, but we're going to stick to your plan, Hyphen. Let me know if you see anything. I'm imagining you're seeing more clearly then I am...”  
  
And even with his visor on, the torches and sconces of the place seemed to project some kind of antilight – the longer of which he stared into, the more placid and empty he felt.

Hyphen did not seem at ease here, but was clearly less effected by it, leaping ahead of him and scuttling from wall to wall, head bobbing in either direction as she looked around corridors and occasionally crawled back towards him.

“There are many chains, and many doors, all opened. Whomever passed through here was determined to get through it quickly, perhaps to something. I think they were hunting another person or thing. But got distracted? Not by wounds. By something else.”  
  
“What evidence do you have of that? That's a lot of blood, Hyphen...”  
  
“But it's all seems to be fairly even, in terms of progression. They all seem recently dried. Not like someone leaking ichor, who paused to rest every minute. Their wounds did not slow them down. Only inconvenience them.”  
  
“Fantastic, another danger. Uh – huh. I guess this must have been the mustering station proper, mustn't it?”  
  
The center of the citadel was a gigantic circular chamber with a fantastically rich mural visible when glancing skyward.  
Hanging above them, the yellow glass was archaic, and the inlay depicted a flying serpent – or something serpent like.   
And the purple light of the alien sky filtered through it, dyeing spent grenade casings and fragments of shrapnel a pale lavender.

Hyphen paused, raising a bit of shrapnel to her face. Wincing, she bit into it – then reeled back in surprise.  
  
“Oh. This is not so bad! Now we only need to find you something, and...”  
  
“Are you still looking for food for me?”  
  
“I doubted you could eat this, but you see, it is so delicious that it means you can keep certain about your rations. _AHAHAHA!”_

He lowered his visor, smile lined with exhaustion... But a smile, all the same.

Past the armaments room riddled by battle was an open courtyard – and though Hyphen had spent some time gathering bits of shrapnel to eat, the trees in the courtyard were interesting to Gerald.  
They were like none other he had seen, thin and wispy in appearance but strong enough to not blow in the cavern-breeze...  
  
And strong enough to bear fruit.

Knocking a few of the pallid yellow, oblong fruits from a branch, he was about to bite into it when Hyphen leapt forward with her usual skill – snatching it from his hands.  
  
“Don't. I will take your blood, and we can test for matches.”  
  
“Hyphen – it's weird, but I know it'll be safe. There's all this information on my new visor; it tells me things, almost too much. What's safe to eat, what could kill me, what – “

A nervous curiosity overcame him. His fingers itched, and he wondered what might happen if he brought Hyphen into the visor's feed...  
As, for whatever reason, she had not displayed anything, yet.  
  
Unable to restrain himself, he brought her up, only to receive a rush of cold relief as 'incomplete information/entity unknown' swam in green letters across the display.

“Well, it's useful, is all. Thanks for the thought, though. I hope you're not, uh, just desperate to get my blood.”  
  
“It would be interesting, yes – but I cannot do much that you cannot imitate, with such limited things. I am also curious to see what elements of your science are like my own. But unfortunately, that comparison may not be easy to make...”  
  
“Ah, if there's still even one – what field are you in?”  
  
“ **Stases.** ”

“...Uh, stacies aren't a field of study where I come from. But if there's a scientist alive, who can approximate whatever that is, I'll get you an hour or more to talk with them at your leisure. When we're out of this, Hyphen.”  
  
And Gerald sunk his teeth into the yellow fruit, ripping into the soggy grey meat within.  
It was tart, with a sweet and tangy aftertaste that left him craving more.  
But it was food – real food, fresh and not from some can, and he nearly wept at how delicious it was.

Hyphen watched him with unconcealed fascination – both at his earlier statement and his ravenous appetite.  
Finally, she knocked one of the fruits free herself – and began to nibble at it in a manner _that was_ \- almost cute, Gerald quickly amended.  
  
While her teeth grated strips of rind, she paused to impale the fruit and chew on it as if it were gum, clearly approving of it's taste but hesitant to be rid of it too quickly.

“The field is the study of what is always so, as opposed to what might be. Things that are constant, not dynamic. That is not to say change or movement does not happen with **stases** ; that is a physical impossibility, so far as we have observed.”  
  
“Sounds complex. Much more complex then telling people why their digital tv can't use an analogue jack...”  
  
“You are making up words to impress me.”  
  
Hyphen's teeth chittered in her peculiar, quiet laughter.  
Around them, the cavern breeze came to a standstill.  
  
This, Gerald thought suddenly, would not be a terrible place to live – if it were not for the monstrosities and the aggression and the feelings attempt to compel him to change –

What had home been like? For that matter, was it so bad to think of this place as familiar, and pleasant to live..?  
The likelihood of returning home wasn't looking so great, after all...

He played a strand of grey fruit-fiber between his teeth, imagining for a second it might be a pipe, and Hyphen his companion on this endless, purple-skied prairie.  
Someone in his family had owned a ranch – a large property that no longer generated income, or whatever the term had been.

It'd fallen into disrepair when he and his...  
Relations, what was the word...

Brow knitting, Gerald tried to remember. Had it been cousins? Maybe a brother, a sister...

The images of blurry shapes drifted into the phantasm of his recollection. They shifted and danced, incandescent and inhuman, and the memories resembled Elsewhere far more then they did the farm of his youth, dilapidated fields long since gone to seed.

And though he could remember little things, like the way the water sparkled and shone in the air as they kicked through it, looking for insects and fish, he could not remember names – and he could not remember appearances.

Maybe the memory was different.  
Perhaps he and Hyphen had been walking through the wilderness, looking for humans swimming through the water, she afraid to enter it for fear of the way it would disrupt the warmth of her skin on the endless, sunlit day...  
  
“Up ahead.”  
  
Gerald interrupted himself, shaking off the thoughts as quickly as they came. Raising his right hand, he pointed at the spiraling passageway down at the end of the little interior courtyard. It had been tiled over and was clearly the way forward, and yet...  
  
“I've got a feeling whomever swept through this place went there, so I'm tempted to just wait and let them do what they do – is what I'd say if I wasn't curious. But I also don't want to put you in any danger, so...”  
  
“We are always in danger, here.”  
  
Hyphen responded, bluntly.  
  
“Yeah. Guess you're right. All right then, since we're heading into danger yet again, do you think we should actually try to catch up to our mysterious benefactor?”  
  
“I will follow you without question, Gerald. But! I will still ask you many questions, because your answers do not stop amusing me.”  
  
Once more, her teeth struck each other pleasantly, and Gerald wished the cavern breeze might return – but it did not, and he sighed.  
The strand of greyfruit, now pulpy and ruined, fell from between his lips onto the grass below.  
  
Stomping on it with one armored boot, Gerald listened to the electric thrum as his visor slid back into position.  
He had taken in enough of the air, here; and though it was comfortingly soporific, he was worried that if he allowed himself to sleep, or hesitate for more then a moment, memories might return...

“Right on, then. I'll take point, and I think we'll consider this, uh, a place to retreat to if there are more of those huge beast-men. They, they feel like stumpy giants, don't they..?”  
  
But there were no more ettins in the dim shadowed roads, waiting to spring forth and wring bone and blood into a gory feast.  
What there was, as the tiled road wound on, was an increasingly strong scent.  
It smelled of salt brine and the sea, ancient jerky and something that made his eyes water uncontrollably despite his utter inability to put it to name.

The grassland gave way to craggy cliff-faces, each inlaid with markings and scratches against them that looked as if they had been left by blades – or claws, or perhaps fingernails from the truly desperate.  
And over it all, the overpowering smell, almost sweet, grew only stronger; trapped between the cliffs like a toxic spring wound tightly, and just waiting for a chance to burst free...

Hyphen was similarly overcome, despite their many differences; it was a truly nauseating stench.  
  
“Maybe we can. Wait. A little...”  
  
“It's not gonna get better, Hyphen. We'll just have to bear it more. I wish this thing had a filtration system... Uh, no. Wait, I wish there was someway it did and we both had one.”  
  
“Hrmn. I do not know if I could make use of it. But maybe I could simply wear the helmet?”  
  
The idea of Hyphen stumbling around, waving her long arms like windmills in the air and wearing a deep-red armored helmet, brought a smile to Gerald's face...  
  
And helped him find the courage to open the second great archway ahead of them.  
  
This one was much older, much less recent – and even more of a marker.  
Before them rose several high pillars, and each pillar seemed to be covered with enough sigils to confound even those capable of reading them...

Which, of course, neither he nor she could.  
Gerald ran his fingers over his helmet, once again wishing that his hair was free and not matted with nervous strands of sweat, no matter how useful the automated display and protective armors were.

“You know – why couldn't the entities of this place use pictographs, instead? For our sakes?”  
  
“Maybe these are pictographs, and it just so happens that the society here look like floating symbols. _AHAHAHAHA!”_  
  
Even with that nervous laughter, she hadn't lost her curiosity, and Hyphen gingerly loped up to some of the lower carvings and scratching them.  
Her eyes danced intricately, and Gerald realized he was a little jealous of the fact she could observe eight of them clearly, if she so chose.

“Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me at this point – I feel like these are probably a warning about whatever is causing that awful smell, but I also feel like this whole place was built to serve as a warning. Maybe we – my planetary kin disturbed something, here, and made Elsewhere even more hostile then it normally is.”

The installation they'd past through had been defunct for far longer then Victor's appearance, and their own.  
It hadn't been as ransacked as the forward base prepared near Sunny's gardens, which seemed oddly backwards; if this place had been made first, shouldn't it have been in an even greater state of disrepair..?  
  
And yet that was not the logic of Elsewhere, and perhaps Elsewhere had no logic.

Still – still.  
  
His mind raced, trying to recollect news broadcasts in those last, tired days; but radio conversations and words spoken in a hasty briefing were even more fragmented then his own living memories, and he could not recall a single conversation that might explain what had happened here, nor who might have built the bluestone fortress they'd just passed through.

Idly, his gaze turned to her back, watching the burnt orange of her shoulders flex and fall as she paced, obviously deep in thought.  
Paranoia whispered that perhaps she was leading him on, even now; and that perhaps, his companion knew _all_ the secrets of this place, and was merely waiting for the chance to use them against him...  
  
Paranoia had never run deep in his blood however, and Gerald shook the thoughts easily enough.  
Whatever secrets were here, and whatever she held, they were her own. He could trust her that much – even if she was a demon.  
  
He'd hoped she'd notice his wry grin, but Hyphen was staring beyond him.  
She looped around him suddenly, and with a casual ease, darting between the vast black-rock pillars and looking into the purple-toned sky with a focus that she made seem natural and reflexive.

Her frown was interesting – the way those sharp teeth pulled back in layers, defeated.  
Whatever it was she was looking for wasn't present, and whatever hint she'd sought to find – well, perhaps it simply wasn't there.  
  
“I don't think it was your people who disturbed something. I began to think that this place disturbed something, first...”  
  
“Like what? Even accounting for the weirdness of Elsewhere, it takes time to build things. And I think we're both skeptical of claims of magic, at the end of the day. You don't just accidentally build something, or accidentally disturb something – “  
  
And an idea began to grow in the back of his mind, hinging on that word – accidentally.  
Had anything in this bizarre realm been an accident?  
Magical as the coincidences might seem, there was some pattern to it, some order...  
Just one that was completely alien to his understanding.

“... But I do not have proof of that, only a fleeting guess. It is only depressing that my guesses are often tinged with truth.”  
  
Hyphen was murmuring, half to herself. She seemed to have reach some conclusion of her own, at least, and that was reassuring.  
She'd brought her arms against her smooth and featureless umber chest, tapping them against one another irritably.

“Your point, I think. It has merit, too. Do you know how I have been very right about traps so far?”  
  
“Unfortunately, yes.”  
  
“There is nothing more threatening then being led forward. I do not like it.”

But who was doing the leading, and to what purpose?  
Gerald bit his lip from behind his visor, wishing for a moment that he might draw blood, just to feel alive – just to psych himself up for whatever might lie ahead.  
  
“Depending on how much of this is interlinked, Hyphen, probably best not to think too much about, uh, conspiracies. But, if, if that's true and all...”

A strange sense of wakefulness poured over him.  
  
Maybe it was the same buzz that they'd all felt; Sunny, Masterson, Hyphen, Victor.

But suddenly, Gerald felt not only aware, but ready for anything.  
The sawed-off shotgun did not glisten, but it hungered all the same.

“Well, I'll make sure they don't get the last laugh.”  
  
As if in response, a noise began to drift from the cliffsides around them as they approached the passageway through, from all directions around them. The noises poured through myriad tiny holes in the otherwise solid cliff face around them, perhaps drilled or cut or carved for the express purpose of aiding that terrible sound...  
  
Terrible, and familiar.  
It was the sound he'd heard from the moat – mimicked so expertly by the rushing meat-beast.  
Here, it drifted through the air, carrying with it a million more murmurs like it. They joined together in a fractal harmony of pleas, all unintelligible and falling over one another –

Interrupted only by a silence deafening in its totality.

 


	13. E2M3 - Split Heads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can go back to the places you've been before.   
> If you know how. 
> 
> You just gotta look in the right places.   
> And each time, they're a little harder, a little more challenging – a little more sparsely provisioned.  
> Which is the point – because eventually, the thrill starts to wear off, if you let it.
> 
> You can't let it, though. You have to keep it _fed._  
>  ~

[It was a crypt.](http://caves.ambient-mixer.com/rainy-cave--horror-)

Built from solid white cliffstone that had aged a dark and mossy brown with time, _it was a crypt._  
A crypt that housed no apparent tombs nor monuments, and yet a crypt all the same.   
Here, the stench of death and decay was overpowering – and somber, too.

For, even with all the rest of it, this place was sacred ground.

The stillness nearly overwhelmed him, but somehow Gerald managed to keep his wits intact.   
Nausea didn't seem to want to hang a pall over him, anymore; or perhaps he'd simply become too used to the awful strangeness of Elsewhere.

Hyphen, however...  
  
“I'm sorry. I cannot!..”

“Don't worry – just hang on. We'll rest a bit, okay?”  
  
Hyphen was panicking, clawing nervously at her sides and, occasionally, her throat.   
He was a little worried she might release one of her blades by accident – or by 'accident' and cause some harm to herself, perhaps in a fit of claustrophobia or demon nausea –  
  
“Just hold on to me for a moment. Let it pass you by.”  
  
She didn't hesitate, holding on to him with the lithe strength she kept tightly wound within her.   
Thankfully, the bulk of his armor and its powered servos made holding her back easier, but it felt awfully impersonal – if not _appropriate,_ perhaps.

He frowned, and rolled down his visor – which was a mistake, or would've been if the fetid air was having any effect on him, anymore.

… _And it wasn't,_ the rune whispered to him.  
 _Welcome it, and this place – these hallowed grounds are yours to wander..._

“Hyphen. You're going to be all right.”  
  
Kneeling slightly forward, he lent his brow to her shoulder – and felt her nestle hers against the top of his forehead. She stayed there for a moment, then chittered quietly.  
  
“I know this. I am all right, Gerald. I am simply tired of being afraid.”  
  
“We both are. But we have to keep going, c'mon – at least we're alone here, right?”  
  
And maybe the loneliness of Elsewhere had began to be a blessing, and not a curse.   
She warbled a strange string of clattering consonants, and he had no idea whether it was laughter, or a sigh.   
But slowly, painfully slowly, she detached herself from him, and sidled from side to side – perhaps attempting to return to her own comfort, as well.

“Yes, yes. We are, for the moment. I must simply not look down.”  
  
Gerald had already glanced below, and knew why it was anathema to her; the water was an awful horrific muck that would've been disgusting to him, though he imagined he could wade through it with his armor – if necessary.

But to Hyphen, who would smother and asphyxiate in the water that was almost as much decaying matter as it was liquid...

“Don't worry, we'll stick to the paths here. Two paths, for once, and that probably means we're not being led forward, right?”  
  
“Gerald Copeman, please do not tease me, right now.”  
  
“... Gotcha. Left or right?”  
  
She paused, all eyes shut, and mulled everything about what he had just asked.  
Both pathways were shadowed, lit only by the occasional flicker of flames hanging from familiar everlit sconces on the wall.

“Right. There is a saying that if you stick to the right you will always find your way home.”  
  
“Are you sure it's not the left...”  
  
But he barely muttered his reply, not wanting to agitate her any more.   
Wordlessly, Gerald moved in front of her, heading down the path in front of them.   
And his movement on his own was their first mistake.  
  
It came running from the hall down towards them, a knight like before; but unlike the hollow shells they had witnessed earlier, this was filled with something; human, or human-like, or human once.   
And it did not matter, for so stained with gore and viscera was it and its armor that it no longer was discernible what was inside of it.  
  
The hellish knight swung its great sword with wild abandon, not even hesitating as the blade glanced off the crimson plate that Gerald wore.   
It swung again and again – nicking his hands as he held them up, and cleaving through the barrel of the shotgun before he'd even had a chance to use it as a hasty bludgeon.

Without thinking, Gerald placed his shoulder forward and tackled the knight to the ground – but as heavy as he was in the mechanical crimson armor, the knight was driven with a berserk fury – throwing him sideways with a horrific wheeze of masonry.   
Rocks tumbled against his back, painless –

But crushing the last of the rations he had been saving, including a few of the fruits from earlier.  
  
Gerald murmured hoarsely, trying to remember how to rise to his feet.  
Still, the relentless swordsman continued forward, dropping his sword to the ground and picking up Gerald in both hands, crushing him against the wall again, and again.

He could feel his armor beginning to strain under the repeated blows.

And his visor was reporting fractures, and tears, and the inability to report on some sectors...

The clattering hiss of Hyphen as she leapt from the corner wall, slamming her elbowspike into the plate under the knight's neck was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard; and the unflinching hatred visible in the tiny, sclera-less eyes of the knight, the most awful sight he'd yet seen.

It hefted him one more time – and flung him into the water below.

His visor had rolled up, too damaged from the assault before to continue functioning without repair.   
Brackish water was flooding into his helmet, overpowering his nostrils with the scent of sewage and rotting meat.   
  
Coughing up water and struggling to pull himself upward, he managed to see Hyphen, terrified, staring down at him from the pathway above – so very far above...

“I'm fine! Hyphen, don't worry about me! We'll keep going! We'll meet up! I promise! God, I promise!”

He yelled, not caring about the flood of torrential sewage water pouring between his mouth with every scream – and he couldn't tell if she heard, even as he _needed her_ to hear him.   
Waving his arms wildly, trying to ignore the bloody wounds where the knight's blade had torn meaty chunks from his skin, the tides began to press forward as something changed, imperceptibly – and the water began to flow.

Unable to verify if she had heard him, or understood him, Gerald fought to remain conscious as wave after wave of sewerwater knocked him under the tides' pull.

Finally, the current came to a standstill, battering him at the edge of some small nook, stacked high with bits of bone and skeletal remains.   
His beaten form crashed into them, breaking some and scattering the rest – and Gerald desperately scrambled to breath, expelling the nauseating water with every choking breath.

Around him, there was no way out – and still the currents continued to move forward.

This might be it then – he was trapped, here.

A shivering doom washed over him, not so much for himself; for he'd stopped worrying for his own sake long ago, lifetimes ago, perhaps.

But Hyphen was now alone, again – truly alone.

And, similarly alone – he wept.   
  
Kneeling down against the brick floor, he wept until the sewage waste was washed from his eyes, until his eyelids were dry and bloodshot, until he couldn't cry anymore.  
Until the off-key singing...

_Off-key singing?_

The unmistakable chorus of a mangled medley of Beatles' songs jammed haphazardly together by someone who didn't really care enough to bother remembering them filtered through the stone above.   
Frantically, Gerald began to beat against the cast bricks with his curled fists, fragments of stone cutting his fingers where his armor had been rent.

… The singing stopped.

After awhile, the singer shouted something – perhaps they had before, but the stone between them made it hard to tell.   
Without the ability to do much more then hoarsely yell in reply, Gerald waited, praying desperately that they wouldn't leave – that they'd do something, be able to do something.

Something close to him began to hiss, and instinct acted more quickly then conscious thought.   
Hurling himself to the corner, Gerald hunched into a sphere – as the wall exploded around him.

“Fucking right. Best not have wasted plastique for that... Copeman?”  
  
“Masterson?”  
  
Only the sound of running water interrupted the two men, staring in utter surprise at one another.   
Gerald couldn't help but grin like an idiot – and to his surprise, Masterson looked much the same.

“Damnit all to hell, I was certain I'd lost you back at that... Place. Christ, Copeman. It's fucking fantastic to see you alive and well.”

“You – you too, Masterson. How the heck did you get down here?”  
  
“Heck, what are you, some sort of scout... Ah. Simple that.”  
  
Masterson reached out his hand, much the more worn from wear, and held it towards his – and Gerald took it gladly.  
  
“Right, there you go. So – shortly after I... Had some loss of confidence, the damn floor caved in all around me. Ruddy awful, thought I was going to die like some fucking tunnel-rat. Easy, man; we're not balls deep in one another.”  
  
Gerald loosened his grip, even as he half-chuckled; Masterson's naturally downcast eyes not quite meeting that thin smile of his.  
  
“Sorry, figured we're all, uh, pretty deep in this one...”  
  
“Yeah. I've been running low on munitions. Some bastard's been ahead of us – pity. Looks like you found their second-hand armor, didn't you?”  
  
“It used to be more impressive.”  
  
Gerald murmured, sighing. The red plate wasn't exactly useless, but it was going to take a lot of time and energy repairing it, if he could even figure out what it was made of, and find a suitable substitute.   
Some of the armor was ceramic, but the rest of it...

Masterson scratched his chin, thoughtfully.  
  
“Well, we'll see what we can do. Two is better then one, and fuck all if I'm going to die after making it this far down the rabbit hole. You capable of fighting, Copeman?”  
  
“Yeah. Masterson, listen – I've... There's someone I need to find.”  
  
“Christ, Copeman. Only you'd worry about someone else in a pit like this, wonder what it says about me that I'll entertain the idea... Spit it out.”  
  
“She's – probably a few floors above us. Did you come from there?”  
  
Masterson's unpleasant smile at the mention of a 'she' faltered as Gerald finished his question.

“No, unfortunately. There's a hole I fell through, but it's pretty much inaccessible unless that armor comes equipped with a fifty-foot ladder.”  
  
“... Well, we'll just have to press on, and do what we can. It's impossible for her to navigate the water here – for any of us, I guess. Those currents...”  
  
“Right. I saw one of the pigbeasts get sucked into 'em. It kept hollering and swinging it's damn hacksaw around even as it got swept away... Aren't too smart, are they?”  
  
Gerald half-shrugged, not certain he was willing to hazard a guess about any of the things he'd seen in Elsewhere...   
But not surprised that Masterson, a smug grin on his thin lips, had come to that conclusion.  
  
“So, Copeman. We're still going to have to slog through shit, so I hope you can stand without me holding your hand the entire way.”  
  
“Last I recall, you were the one who needed hand-holding.”  
  
Gerald murmured in reply, and Masterson burst into laughter.  
  
“Too right! Well, that means you're not one of _them_ , at least. I'll take point, since the place here is about as dangerous as a convenience store checkout aisle. Bloody odd mausoleum, isn't it...”  
  
“You think it's a crypt, too?”  
  
As they clambered over the remains of Masterson's hastily-made entrance, Gerald beheld a long, winding waterway.   
It presumably had controlled the flow of water to the open-air viewing area beneath the entry paths, at one point...  
When it flooded over, or if it had been meant to, was anyone's guess.

“Has to be. A few of the mushy ones turned up here, though it's mostly full of armored knights and pigbeasts.”  
  
“Do you mean the ones with the grenade launchers?”  
  
Masteron snorted derisively.  
  
“Y'know, I've actually seen a few of them fighting one another, the pigbeasts and the knights. I don't think they're on the same bloody team. The knights seem to be patrolling the area, perhaps, and the pigbeasts...”  
  
The water only came up to their waists, and as awful as it was, Gerald still felt luckier then Masterson; his visor didn't roll up anymore, but whatever sense of smell he'd had before had long since withered away.   
Masteron, however, didn't seem to mind the smell at all, so perhaps he, too, had acclimated.

“Well, it means we don't have to waste ammunition on useless fights.”  
  
Gerald began, and Masterson's snorting turned into a snicker, directed at him.

“Ah, Copeman. You'll never fit in to the way things work here, not with an attitude like that. Damn good to see you again, though, can't say it enough – hmn.”  
  
The waterway came to an end near a thin, high-rising cistern.   
It was spaced thinly enough that Gerald was certain they could climb it, and the way Masterson was staring at it from underneath his exhaustion-lined eyes indicated that he had a similar idea brewing.  
  
“Ever gone rappelling, Copeman?”  
  
“First time for everything, I guess.”  
  
It was brutal work; the ropes Masterson had on hand were weak, and had been previously used to cordon something – likely one of his specimens. The walls were thick with mildew and plant-life that was too slimy to get a good grip on, and slippery to rest against.

The danger of tumbling into the murky water below was very real, but inch by terrifying inch, the two of them managed to make progress, finally clambering onto the top of the cistern...  
And able to witness the small crawlway beyond.

“Of course there's a fucking passage. Seems like every time I give up on moving forward, there's another passage... What do you say, Copeman. Take ten, then double-time it?”  
  
“Uh, yeah. I could use a breather... How are you holding up, Masterson?”  
  
Masterson was breathing heavily, and Gerald took a moment to appraise him.   
He seemed tired and mercurial as ever, but in decent physical shape; he was a much more skilled combatant, though it was clear from the way he was hefting his battered rifle that he was conserving ammunition – not a good sign.

No visible cuts on his uniform were present, but it had a few well-sewn dents in it, and Gerald figured Masterson must have been through a few scraps that he couldn't dodge or murder his way out of, at least for the moment.

He wondered if, having climbed the cistern, they might be able to rendezvous with Hyphen, but...  
  
“Should do for a break, shouldn't it? Damn, but you look like shit, Copeman. I'll take point again, since you're such a fucking embarrassment.”  
  
Masterson hummed to himself cheerily, crawling through the tiny pathway as if it were second nature to him.   
It didn't take him long to reach the end, and after a cursory check, Masterson waved him forward.

“Right, all clear. Careful, visibility is low. Ready when you are...”  
  
Gerald steeled himself and lowered his body to the floor. It smelled like moldy bread, and he wished he could remember what fresh bread smelled like.   
One hand went in front of the other and he pulled himself into the crawlspace – and the light around him smothered out, almost instantly.

All he could see was the distant form of Masterson, watching him bemusedly, as he staggered forward.  
It was at the halfway point down the crawlspace when Masterson's ears perked up, but neither realized the full implications until a second later, a split-second too late.

The stout grenadier howled in rage as it threw itself from some point above them, and Masterson began to fight it feverishly – occasionally the light of a misfired grenade would light up the room, and Gerald could make out the sweat and mania on Masterson's face, or the bruises forming on the muscled flesh of their enemy as Masterson brought his riflebutt against it, again and again and again...

He crawled as quickly as he could, and had reached only a quarter left of the passageway when the grenade scattered wide –

And lodged itself in the crawlspace next to him.

Somehow, he felt a strange sense of out-of-body tranquility, hurling himself forward with a clarity he could not have explained if it were asked of him.   
The last few motions were a blur as he rolled forward, pressurized shrapnel launching itself against his back and burying into his rent armor, or simply shredding his skin where the armor was already split.

But there was little pain, because he was clear.  
  
Exuberantly, Masterson brought his rifle down on the squat beast's head, and it exploded in a shower of chunky gore.   
The blood coated Masterson's rifle, his face, and his hands, and he wiped it off as if it were little more then rain or sweat; and perhaps to him, it was.

“Not bad, Copeman! A bit slow, but it seems we've got things under control here. Damn shame about his head, isn't it...”  
  
Laughing, Masterson stuck his hand into the cavity where the beast's head had been, yanking out what was left of it's spine – despite his revulsion, Gerald found himself equally fascinated as Masterson pulled it free with surprising ease, stunning them both.

“Metal? Why do you think there's metal in its spine..?”  
  
Gerald whispered, and Masterson half-shrugged.

“Don't know if I want to know. There's a lot about this place that I'd _pay_ not to know, Copeman. Not that we're so lucky to have that option, ha-ha! Would make a decent club, wouldn't it...”  
  
But Masterson had disregarded the idea as quickly as it came to him, discarding the spine to the ground.

The room they'd burst into was some sort of viewing chamber; it overlooked another small park area, rich with alien flowers and fauna that had rotted away from whatever poisons enriched the water here; but perhaps that was intentional in Elsewhere.   
Perhaps this entire dimension was governed by unpleasant forces, and to them, it was decay that was beautiful...

Above them, a railed platform was where the ogre had leapt to attack; it was difficult, but not impossible, to pull themselves onto it.   
The door facing them did not fit the medieval look of the tomb itself, instead powered in a similar manner to the entryways of the installation he and Hyphen had entered through...

“Looks like it needs a key. Handy, that.”  
  
Masterson spat against the wall, digging around in his pockets.   
The key he produced was tiny and made of a silvery metal that looked a little brittle.   
It fit into a small lock at the side of the door – which fizzled, shook, and sputtered to life, sliding to the side.

“Great – a well. We'll never catch up to her like this...”  
  
“Don't be daft, Copeman. You're not going to catch up to anybody being the sad sack that you are – hope is a killer. Now, if you follow me, I'm sure we'll meet up with your pretty little girl before long, yeah?”  
  
“... Yeah.”

Both men stared into the murky abyss of the well below.  
The water here was not putrid – it was entirely empty of anything, including light.   
And somehow, Gerald wondered if it might not be pure, and safe to drink; but he still felt entirely without the need to drink, nor the desire.

There was also the matter of how to safely descend into the depths, for the well was far too wide to climb down, and far too deep to safely fall into.

Even though there was clearly a small grotto that a hole in the well bled out into...

“Aha!”

Gerald grinned from ear to ear, snapping his fingers.  
  
“Masterson, hold on a second.”  
  
His companion raised a thin eyebrow, but said nothing, watching him dart back to the prior room without a care in all of Elsewhere.

Gerald quickly found what he was looking for; the harsh metal glint of the spine was impossible not to notice, after all.  
And, worse still – but better for them, of course – it _extended_ all too easily, functioning as a well-made if entirely unnerving ladder.

Masterson whistled, smiling pleasantly, as Gerald hooked the beast's spine above one of the few firmly cast bricks.

“Not bad, Copeman. At this rate, I'll have to start considering you useful. I did my part. You go first.”  
  
The cheer had left his voice, but Gerald had grown used to Masterson's dangerous tones – the other man was not going to kill an ally, not yet; he wasn't desperate enough, Gerald felt certain.

_He wanted to feel certain._

“Sure thing. If my neck breaks when I drop, it isn't safe to follow me.”  
  
Masterson howled with laughter as Gerald climbed down as far as the spine would take him; then fell back into the water below.

There was a strange peace as he fell; and he could almost imagine what life had been like before he'd arrived here, almost imagine the life he'd left behind...   
  
But not quite.

And the bottom of the well was clear as ice, and did not sting his eyes as he submerged beneath the still waters.   
The small grotto was only a short swim away, and he could hear the water break as Masterson fell into it behind him – but he ignored the older man, swimming quickly.

Gerald had no desire to lose his breath underwater, here.

There were strange fish-like creatures, too. They were swimming towards him and Masterson quickly, but the submerged pool was so small that they were no challenge to avoid; and he could hear Masterson clubbing them from behind him, but paid it no heed.

Whatever this area had been, it was not part of the crypt proper; but instead an entirely separate room, perhaps intended never to be breached from the well at all.   
The dry surface he clung to, breathing in deeply, smelled of rich and loamy earth...   
  
And not of death, at all.

Masterson soon pulled himself from the murky waters as well, laughing freely.

“Damn, I'd almost imagine they'd make good eating, if there were potatoes here... The flesh looked rotten though. Not quite going to risk it. Copeman?”  
  
Of course, Gerald's attention was drawn to the only obvious feature of the tiny antechamber, and soon Masterson's was as well.  
The huge iron object in front of them seemed to be holding a black expanse, lined with stars.  
  
Countless dark and beautiful vistas swirled past their vision, and Gerald could not control the sudden, shaking spasms that overcame him.

To his side – Masterson was quietly weeping.

“Beautiful... Like the face of God.”  
  
Gerald tried to think of something to say in response, but _it was_.   
  
Somehow, the portal looked – safe, or perhaps welcoming.   
And maybe Hyphen would have said it was a trap, as it was clearly the only way forward, yet he could not look upon the endless sea of stars and see anything but peace.

“Do you think we're – we're allowed to go into it?”  
  
“... Can't say. Copeman – it feels like it'd be wrong not to.”  
  
“Yeah. Do you think we're the first to see it, since...”  
  
He trailed off, not sure if there had ever been any humans, any sentient entities at all in this place – perhaps ever.   
Masterson gave a curt, military nod – running his hands under his helmet and through his hair.

“I – yes. Maybe we can just stare at it, for awhile...”  
  
But Gerald had began to think of Hyphen, alone in the chambers above, and a steely resolve came over him.   
Masterson cast one eye towards him, then whirled to face Gerald in surprise, a smug grin replacing his reverence.   
  
“And what the hell is this then, Copeman? Did you grow a spine when we climbed down the spare?”

“I've got to keep going, Masterson. I made a promise.”

Both men were silent – and then Masterson nodded.  
It was a moment, only a moment, but in those passing seconds Gerald could imagine Masterson before the crisis hit – a professional military man, proud of his duty and his skills, unyielding and ready to do whatever needed to be done.

“Good answer. I'll come with you then, you take point. Let's hope there's some munitions up ahead at least... Well, then. You first.”

And Gerald whispered a silent prayer that perhaps would find no answer, and set foot into the endless black expanse of stars – and a wonderful sense of peace washed over him.

 


	14. E2M7 - Beneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you listen carefully, you can hear it.
> 
> A whisper of mine, seeking your heart.
> 
> Be loved, love, and grow strong, it says.
> 
> Then return to the worshipful soil...  
> ~

[Gerald awoke, screaming.](http://other-atmospheres.ambient-mixer.com/forgotten-underground-city)  
  


He could not recall the reason why, or if there even was a reason; all he knew that there was a primal fear that would not leave him, perhaps a fear that had no name.

But the cold left his body, and warmth returned soon enough.  
He was aware that his blood had gone turgid, could feel it began to flow once more – could feel the weight of everything he wore, of his skin and his bones, and eyes watching from a distant place, so distant – and yet so close at hand.

Then, the sense of awareness faded, too, and his mind began to drift from the unthinking cold that had tried to claim him.  
Whatever the portal had been, if it had been a portal, it had taken him to a beautiful complex, still shaded by the purple sky above.  
It was built of the same blue brick that the bizarre keep had been built of...  
  
But it was different. _Peaceful_ , if he had to put a word to it.  
And it felt abandoned, incredibly neglected by both time and tenders.  
He was halfway towards the entrance hall when Masterson appeared out of the air behind him, screaming and crying.

“God... Damnit... God...”  
  
Masterson whimpered, biting back tears and viscous green effluvia dripping from his nostrils. Instinctively, Gerald raised his fingers to his – and found a similar dark-green sludge leaking forth. Hesitating for only a moment, he raised his fingers to his ears...  
  
And his hand returned, dyed green.

“Didn't want to come back. Whatever that was, wasn't so bad.”  
  
Masterson murmured, and all Gerald could do was nod.  
  
“But we rejected it. Didn't we...”  
  
And they had.  
  
Somehow he knew, he _knew_ that if they'd just accepted whatever had happened in the portal, they would not have arrived here...  
But if they had...  
  
An unpleasant shiver wracked his spine.

Just because something felt _pleasant_ didn't mean it was _good_.

“I'm fine. Takes more then that to fuck with me, eh, Copeman? Ha. Hahaha.”  
  
“Don't push yourself, Lieutenant. This place wasn't meant for the likes of you or me; and I feel like if we're jumpy inside of it, something, uh... It'll react poorly.”  
  
“Buildings don't react, sod it. But I'll – I'll take it under advisement. Damn. Feels like – Copeman. Does it feel like your neck, almost... Almost snapped free? And then at the last minute, someone, aha, cricked it back into place?”  
  
Masterson's wavering smile flickered as Gerald stared at him, aghast. Whatever he had experienced, Gerald knew that he hadn't experienced anything like _that_...  
And as seconds trickled by, Masterson's smile fell centimeter by centimeter, until finally there was nothing left.  
His mouth hung open for a minute, and finally he spat against the grass.

“Damnit all. Must be losing my touch. I'll go first, Copeman. All right, clear.”  
  
They proceeded in silence, but might as well have gone in guns blazing; the 'building' ended soon after they set foot inside it, serving only as a marker for vast and endless circular mounds of soil leading downwards, ever-further.

Occasionally, some strange relief was cast out of untouched stone; the first time they saw one looming down at them, Masterson had reflexively fired a three-round burst at them.  
Which would've been fine, save for one thing...

The statues bled.

But despite the uneasy earthenworks surrounding them, the feeling of peace had not left Gerald.  
  
_This could be a new life for you._  
  
Forget about the rest.  
Forget about your old life.  
Forget about – 

But something kept him moving onwards, even as the soil began to be fade into lichens, which in turn faded into plants that glowed pale green in the dark, only to be replaced by writhing tendrils of algae and moss that seemed to tense and retract in joyous anticipation of their arrival.

Masterson adjusted his collar after poking one and watching it withdraw.  
  
“Damn. Wish I'd a lighter. I fucking hate plants.”  
  
“They're not doing anything to us right now, Masterson.”  
  
“Christ, Copeman! Can't you feel their eyes on us?”

“Plants don't have eyes.”  
  
But even as he said that, Gerald had to admit that his companion was right.  
The uneasy glances Masterson kept shooting at the hanging vines on the ever-circling wall passages around them were only half as unnerving as the feeling that the chamber was _alive._

“Tell you what, Copeman. We make it out of this, return to Earth, come back with a flamethrower or two, have ourselves a nice celebratory barbecue. A whole hocka ham, some warm tapwater you'll call a beer, and we just... Let it all burn.”  
  
“... I'm not entirely opposed to the idea.”  
  
Gerald admitted, and the vines shook in quiet laughter.

Finally, the mounds of earth spread apart and revealed a vast underground field; fallow and unseeded. The soil here was fresh and warm, almost as warm as a hot summer day. Normally his fingers would've recoiled from the surprising heat as he touched it, but...  
  
“Christ! Stop fucking fingering it, Copeman! Don't you know you don't touch _anything_ here, yet? How the hell've you survived this long..?! Well, since it didn't kill you – “  
  
Underscoring his observation, Gerald watched in half-surprise as Masterson leaned forward towards the earth, touched it, and withdrew his hand, agape.  
  
“How the hell is it so hot, when the air here is so cool? How the hell is there air so deep underground...”  
  
“We're not underground...”  
  
Gerald suddenly whispered, eyes going wide as dinnerplates.  
  
And suddenly, the dangerous ideas that had been taunting him began to dance around the corners of his mind found the floodgates that had been barring them – and just like the roar of water before, he could feel them overcoming the last defenses he had.

_Elsewhere was winning._

“Ha, hahaha, Copeman, that's a – a funny joke – “  
  
“We're, oh, God...”  
  
Blaspheming quietly, Gerald sunk to his feet and wrapped his hands around his knees.  
Fragments of red armor did nothing to shield himself from the 'realizations' that, rightly or wrongly, were stripping hope away and replacing it with something as new and alien as Elsewhere itself...

Masterson's fist smacked into his cheek.  
  
“Fuck you. Get yourself together, Copeman.”  
  
It didn't work, because Masterson was shaking as he did it, and looking at the ceiling, and trembling.

But it did work, because at that moment Gerald remembered why he had to keep going, and why it didn't matter what Elsewhere was, or wasn't.

“C'mon, Masterson. It'd be... Fusking stupid if you gave up, right after me.”  
  
Masterson shivered, running his hand over his face and feeling stubble and age as if it might shield him from the world.

“Right. Fucking future of humanity, isn't it...”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Gerald asked, genuinely confused.  
  
Masterson stared at him, grimacing.  
  
“Ah, you know, you'd gone on about... Christ, you remember, right?”  
  
“Of course! Of _course_ I do, we're off to save, whatever, whatever's left!”  
  
And Gerald grinned and wheeled on the balls of his feet and strode down the fields, not capable of bringing himself to look at Masterson's incredibly unnerved expression...  
An expression he knew he must have had when he'd first met the Lieutenant...

Eventually the underground fields faded into sloping soil, a tunnel of which resembled nothing more then a giant slide.  
Gerald tried to remember if he'd ever enjoyed slides growing up, and could find himself only capable of wondering if it'd support both his weight, and that of Masterson.

“Right, we're not doing that. Take a look, Copeman. What d'you see at the bottom, there?”  
  
Narrowing his eyes, Gerald peered into the brown murk – and could just make the shadowy tendrils of vines and roots moving autonomously in the dark below.  
And the rune he held close to him sung, but he knew that it was not time to join that place, not know, and perhaps not ever.

“... I can't...”  
  
“Don't worry. We'll figure another way. How about, ah..?”  
  
Masterson trailed off as they heard the unmistakable mechanical thrum of an elevator. Masterson's face, which had been perpetually set in the gloom which seemed to eat away at the edges of it, split into an open smile.  
  
“Well what do you fucking know? We aren't alone down here, after all. And if we're lucky, it'll be hostile, and just carrying ammunition for the both of us. Wouldn't that be a lovely little turn, Copeman..?”  
  
Gerald said nothing, listening to the sound of the elevator growing closer – though he could see no obvious station or depot for it to come to a rest at.  
Indeed, there was no suspension for it, and he knew it should be impossible for an elevator to travel, without suspension...

His fingers itched. Elsewhere would not be sending them luck.

Slowly, above them, a brown object came into view, blocky and polygonal. It seemed to coexist within the dirt, not even seeming to care about stone or soil or roots or anything else that stood in its way; it simply drifted downwards from an unfathomably high place, growing larger all the while.

… A peal of sweat began to form on the back of his spine. Masterson was staring up at it, transfixed, jaw half-open. His fingers began to shake, nervously playing with his rifle.  
  
Floating through the air, the elevator took on a less blocky appearance the moment it hit something that wasn't solid, looking like any other he'd seen – perhaps slightly older, more old-fashioned.  
Like something he would've seen at an aging hotel, or...

Gerald shivered again, and pulled Masterson to the ground without knowing why.

The door of the elevator exploded open, and a morass of plant life exploded from within, coating the chamber in green; then almost as rapidly, the organic microcosm died, turned a withered brown, and fell to the floor around them, coating the fields in a fresh layer of soil.

… Masterson nodded to the air, rather than to him.

“Okay. Well. Elevator's here. Let's get in it before something else comes to tend to the flowers, right...”  
  
They dashed into the elevator, despite the fact that it had been teeming with life moments before.  
Anything was preferable to this lost garden, and the reward for their courage was quiet, cool air.  
Indeed, Gerald thought with a slight smile, the air-conditioning inside the elevator was top notch.  
Even if Elsewhere was just imitating something from their world...  
  
He'd give it good marks.  
Why, Hyphen'd probably be incredibly uncomfortable, it was so cool...

_Hyphen._

Gerald shut his eyes.

“Masterson. Get us out of here.”  
  
“Don't get your knickers in a twist, princess. I've got to figure out what, precisely, does fuck all, here. Or the doors could shut and we could start moving on our own, that would be fucking fantastic...”  
  
Fuming petulantly, Masterson glowered at the wrought-black steel of the elevator as it began to move upwards once again, perhaps on some strange service routine known only to whatever phantom will had brought it into being in the first place.

“It's fine. I don't think we were meant to be here. I mean – it's only a feeling, but this place was private. And we've invaded it so, we're being shown the door.”  
  
“... Awfully specific. Why d'you think that...”  
  
“No defenders, we were shown what we were meant to be shown, and now... This.”  
  
Gerald shrugged, shoulders almost brushing against the cramped elevator ceiling. A panel fell down, causing them both to jump; soil and dirt were clearly visible 'above' the elevator, yet did not fall through to the floor, even though they were clearly traveling _through_ solid dirt.

“And, uh, apparently, whatever's puppeteering us has a pretty awful sense of humor...”

“Hey. Copeman.”  
  
Masterson sounded – different.  
  
The lines on his face betrayed his exhaustion as he knelt forward, resting his head on the elevator steel.  
Gerald couldn't see his expression, only the back of his head – staring, perhaps, into a void of his own creation.

“I'm so fucking tired, Copeman.”

“Masterson. Hang in there. We've gotta save Hyph – Earth. We have to save humanity.”  
  
“Hyph, huh... Sounds like a ruddy VD. Is that what's keeping you going?”  
  
Gerald was silent, and Masterson chuckled, bitterly.  
  
“You know... Fuck it all. Things we had to do, in the early days of the invasion. I welcomed this, at first. Still do, I think. Can't tell anymore. Copeman.”  
  
For a brief, awful second, the air hung tense and unpleasant and Gerald felt certain he knew the words forming on Masterson's lips.

_Kill me –_

“Think fast.”  
  
And Masterson turned around, smile wide on his face, and pulled the trigger of his rifle, three times.  
Rat-tat-tat; just like he'd heard it before, just like he'd seen Masterson do to countless hapless denizens of Elsewhere.

The first bullet sunk harmlessly into his shoulder; Masterson's aim wasn't so good.  
The second round lodged in the soil they were bypassing, and disappeared there, an enigma in dirt.

As for the third...

Gerald clutched his chest, feeling the metal burrowing underneath his skin.  
Masterson's smile was wavering, and the elevator had arrived at some destination. His mouth opened, and closed; perhaps he wanted to cry, or to say something – but he didn't find the words, and with a curt nod, turned his back on Gerald, and walked off.

… In his mind Gerald felt fragments of dreams and remembrances blending together.  
  
Was Hyphen going to be able to return to the electronics store, or was that the farm they'd bought, and left to go fallow, like the gravemounds under the earth...?

His vision swam, and in it he could see countless stars.  
But one by one, the stars died out, leaving only empty nightscapes – and then, even those died.

Shuffle, shuffle – something was coming closer.  
Maybe it was stepping, or perhaps, something else; he couldn't quite distinguish the sounds.  
Could it be Masterson, here to finish the job?  
  
Was – was it Hyphen, here to save him...

“Ah, what a mess... You weren't supposed to die, but then, I _am_ sometimes... Oh?”  
  
Whatever was prodding his face stung, and stuck to his skin; it pulled loose strands of the stuff out almost, no, entirely by accident, and he could hear an embarrassed gasp as it did.  
  
“Once again I forget, how fragile you are... Though you _are_ becoming much stronger, aren't you? I'm not sure when you acquired that rune. Was the old chainbreaker right to quarrel with us, both...”  
  
He could be almost certain it was Sunny, or her voice, and Gerald tried to force his eyes open, but it was so very hard to do.  
He could feel something cutting the bullets from his skin with razor-sharp precision, and threading the wounds with equal care.

“Well, you'd come to your own on your own account. I shall simply speed the process. Did you find peace, here?”  
  
Had he...?  
  
Gerald half-opened his mouth, and his eyes opened with it.

No longer was he in the hall beneath the earth – he was far above it, floating amidst the purple skies, or perhaps above them, in a featureless and blocky void.  
There was nothing else here, and nobody else here, nor elevator to carry him.

He knew he should be falling, and yet he wasn't.  
  
Hesitantly, he tried to rise to his feet, and found he could.  
The round that had buried itself so neatly under his ribcage had been popped out and was floating in midair, spinning aimlessly.

… With a slight whistle, Gerald tried to move forwards, and found he could move in any direction he pleased.

His armor had been stripped from him, broken, and rent into a thousand red shards with a rage that must have been horrific to witness; or perhaps whatever had broken it simply loved to destroy things.  
It would prove no further aid to him, not that it'd been a great help so far...

The rune, he'd slipped under his shirt. And the rune, it clung to his skin and pulsed warmly, and he could feel the skin mending from the heat of it.

“Jeezus...”  
  
Gerald whispered, running his fingers under the rapidly diminishing scars –

Only to plummet gently downwards, landing on his feet as if he were a cat rather than a man, and this were a slight hop rather then a collapse from heavens themselves.

He was in front of the building which had greeted them on arrival, though it was now sealed entirely. Masterson was nowhere to be seen, of course, but a passageway had opened where they'd arrived; the portal was gone, and the passageway looked almost entirely like a train tunnel, complete with badly-lain imitation tracks.

… Gerald's... Sister?.. Had always liked trains. _Hadn't she_...  
And though his mind ached, he forced himself to remember Earth.  
Think –  
  
_Europe, it was the summer of a certain year, and the train to Genoa had been delayed by an accident at a pass, and he'd had to stay overnight..._  
  
_The hotel was expensive, and he wasn't sure he'd have enough to cover it, and then the cashier had exploded when the meaty chunk of what'd once been a human being tossed itself at him, consuming him from the inside..._

Rubbing under his eyes, Gerald strode into the darkness, walking on the tracks for only a moment before rising to the blue stone passenger walkway; for, after all, who was to say that passenger trains didn't roar by in Elsewhere, as well?  
  
But as it happened, the train tracks eventually came to a stop – closed off by bars of wood over a bricked-over passageway.  
A light flickering against the wall indicated a small room, perhaps a manual control of sorts, and Gerald hesitated before investigating it.

He could think clearly again, blessedly so – perhaps more so then before he'd been shot...  
Before Masterson had shot him.

Shaking, Gerald tried to steady himself.  
  
“Anyone could've... We were both under stress. And he saved me before, so, I'll let it go. I – good lord...”  
  
Forcing himself to focus, Gerald knew that Hyphen would've mentioned a trap; this was the work of Elsewhere forcing his hand, again – trying to lead him where it wanted him to go. Maybe it had led him here, as well, but he felt almost certain that their stumbling upon this place, Masterson and he arriving – that had not been expected.

… And so instead of opening the door, Gerald walked down to the tracks, and slowly knelt down amongst them, and closed his eyes.

For the first time in ages, he slept – not for a few meager hours, but perhaps a whole day, or what felt like a day; for time was impossible to measure, here.

When he awoke, all was as it had been, but he felt refreshed.  
… And no ghostly train had run him over in his sleep, so...  
Gerald leapt back over the railing and to the walkway, and kicked down the door with a strength he wasn't entirely certain was necessary.

It spun open, which felt rather satisfying.

And inside were a seemingly endless hallway criss-crossed with a maze of left-to-right corridors, each ending in a ruined hunk of machinery that might have once been the Kingsteen/Toivo device. They were all unusable, so far as he could tell.  
Out of curiosity, he tried stepping into one of them – but nothing happened, and nothing continued to happen with each defunct piece he investigated.

… There was someone standing at the very end of the hallway, so distant that they were only just visible.  
Despite the fact that he felt very strongly he should be running away, he broke into an open run, fighting back sweat and nerves as he pelted towards them, as fast as he could manage.

It felt good to run, even as the figure seemed to drift further and further into the distance the more quickly he ran.  
And though it felt like hours, even with the strength afforded to him by a rest in this strange compartment of Elsewhere, he could not catch up to the figure, whose back was turned to him.

Lights flickered and went out behind him, and then around him, and finally in front of him, and he could not see anything at all.

Yet – the dark felt welcoming, as it had before.

As if it were meant to be this way, and perhaps...

_Where do you want to go..?_

The dark called to him, and he replied the only way he knew; walking forward.

In front of him the empty space opened up into a panoramic view of Earth, Earth as he should have remembered it and Earth as he wanted it to be.  
  
He could see the crystalline highrises and busy streets, cars bustling to and fro, and feel the gentle warmth of an easy, aimless day.  
And he did want to return there – he did.

But it wasn't where he was _needed_ , right now.  
  
Slowly, the image faded, like a movie projector being shut down.

The darkness returned to blanket his eyes, but slowly faded from sight as a new image began to cluster around him.  
  
It was far less pleasant.

This image was a manor-house, almost modern-looking save for the way it had been constructed of a mishmash of materials from different times and places. The style was unmistakably that of someone he had met before, and the blue stone mixed with wrought metal...

Within the thrumming heart of the manor, something prowled, quietly.  
Waiting, watching – and desperate for prey.

There was danger there, and it would not rest until it had found what it had been searching for...  
Which was not him, and Gerald knew that the darkness would accept his denial, and allow him to simply retreat to it, for as long as he might care...

And he scowled at the darkness, pointing towards the flickering vista.

“Take me there. I'll risk any reality over these illusions. Stop – stop toying with me!”  
  
Around him, the darkness grew thicker, and he felt it tickling his skin.  
Where the shadows clung, his being drifted away, even as his consciousness remained active.  
It was if he had been rendered invisible entirely – but could perceive himself.  
  
Gerald lifted a hand to his face, and knew it was there, even though he could see nothing but the dark.

… There _was_ only the dark, wasn't there?  
  
He turned rapidly around, just able to see the rise of something tremendous, greater then all the vast space occupied by the darkness around him; it flashed and pulsated in joyous revelry, and to behold it was to rupture the mind entirely.

And Gerald screamed until his voice was sore, until he couldn't scream any longer.  
  
He continued to howl, wordlessly, even as his eyes began to tremble and his vision began to blur, long after the vision had disappeared, and the dark had disappeared, and he had disappeared with it.

In the brief eternity that he had beheld It, he knew that the entity had been watching him with barely concealed happiness, waiting specifically for _him, for him alone;_ and though perhaps it had not been the creature that had called him here, or directed his journey, _it was waiting for him –_ at the end.

… Even as his vocal chords were melted away by the acrid darkness, even as he could feel the void replacing itself in every pore, Gerald continued to scream, until finally it was impossible for him to howl any longer...

And even then, in the empty void, his cries of terror lingered, consumed by the hungry absence, which fed on them and whispered sweet promises long after he had been carried away from those hidden realms, under the earth.

Below, in secret fields that would never see another human presence, the soils began to shift and struggle and extrude cautious tendrils in the shape of plants, and their joy was matched to the unknown heavens above; for with those anxious cries was another promise:  
  
_Their time to bloom was near._

 


	15. E2M4 - Freedom, and Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So beautiful – such were my thoughts as I beheld my work.  
> And beautiful they were – truly free. I took my liberation as my title.  
> But now, I see the cycle has been completed...  
> I return, then, to slavery.  
> But how peculiar that in these last hours, that you are to be my companion...  
> ~

[Hyphen limped forward, dragging her left leg heavily behind her.](http://nature-other.ambient-mixer.com/dark-cave-soundscape)  
  
By her own guess, it wasn't such bad damage; she could still feel the heat welling up inside it, which meant she wasn't dispersing it out into the air, which meant it would heal, given time.  
  
... The escape from the crypt had not gone well.

Many somber guardians, the ones armed with the large cutting blades, had attempted to bar her path.  
The lone ones she had dispatched easily enough, but when they came in pairs, or pairs of pairs...  
  
She cursed her weakness, since no-one was around to do so.  
And there was no time, had been no time to mourn...

Gerald did not die in water, as she might.   
Well, a very little was only a discomfort, but that waste he'd been swept away by – it was best not to think, not to think at all.   
And that was difficult for her, but if she just continued moving, it would come more easily.

The crypt walls had been destroyed by some excavation team, perhaps a group of scavengers from a different faction that populated Elsewhere.   
An assistant to her had once remarked that the best profession for those that no longer felt the drive to study artifacts was to steal them...

Perhaps some lost group here felt that the monuments and tombs of the dead were worthy tribute.

All right – it was safe here.   
Her myriad eyes shot behind her and in front of her and all around the unlit caverns.   
Then, with a sigh of susurrating chitin, she pulled herself to the wall and gave herself a cursory check.

Her spikes were functional, and her internals didn't seem especially bad. Her leg was...   
If only she'd had that weapon Gerald had, it would've made for a fine splint.  
And as for her fire, it held. Very well, then what about the way forward..?  
  
Or ways forward, as it turned out.   
  
Multiple sinuous tunnels crisscrossed lazily through the stone, perhaps carved by a series of worms, maybe the larval forms of the gasbeasts that Gerald – that he had jokingly referred to as ghosts.

She should've made him wait, and studied things longer, and been more courageous, like she had pretended she was.

Hyphen shut her eyes, and whispered a litany of curses to herself.

Then, she picked a tunnel at random, her eyes falling on the one slightly to what she imagined was her northwest... And followed its winding road.

It was, as it turned out, a dead-end, of sorts.  
  
A dead-end that housed a very bedraggled and harshly-breathing figure whose wounds were in a much worse state then her own.

Who comes to laugh at this? My death does not concern anyone else. My death is my own! I earned this death, damn you all...! I did not rely on it, as gift from the other...!”  
  
He swept a graying hand around the room, trying to see her as she praised the gentle shadows that obscured her so well.   
And his vision was not as good as hers perhaps; either unaccustomed to the dark or failing like the rest of his systems, and she could see the many wounds leaking a mixture of congealed ichor not unlike Gerald's blood, and...   
  
Something. Something oily and thick, perhaps enough so to catch fire..?  
  
Temptation was not enough to inspire wanton cruelty, and the figure was neither hostile nor in any condition to fight – even her, Hyphen felt. And the traces of red finery, if they had once been finery, brought an idea to her mind...  
  
“Are you, by chance. The Manumitter?”  
  
Her half-chittering question was met at first by a look of near-toothless disbelief on his part, and then quiet, self-effacing laughter.

“So. _So..._ I am not alone in this place, and my gaoler deigns to humor me. Although – **you are not a pawn here, are you?** Are you – “  
  
Cautious hope that did not much his age or the sores on his exposed flesh entered into the voice of the Manumitter.   
He was a dying man, and Hyphen felt few could afford hope more shamelessly then the dying.  
  
“Are you, by chance, willing to listen to the will and testament of an old man?”  
  
His tongue was similar to Gerald's, but drawn out by drift and time.   
She understood it easily enough, but how peculiar the way he spoke – and she crept forward hesitantly on all fours, nervous not for herself, but that her appearance might induce a traumatic reaction in him.

Perhaps the Manumitter could not see at all, for he did not react at all – and did not face her, staring at the wall as if his clouded and empty eyes were looking into her, and not it.  
  
“Yes, yes. I am always willing to listen to others. It is rare to find those without ill intent here. I will listen. Can you walk?”  
  
He paused, looking surprised at himself – almost as if, perhaps, just perhaps, this little bit of encouragement might have been enough to pull himself from weakness to strength..!   
And, hesitantly, the featureless flesh of his face contorted as he tried to pull himself from the ground...

Letting out a terrible, blood-curdling scream of pain.  
  
It was so awful that she screamed as well, and the alien chittering of her scream was enough to make his voice tremble further, until finally he was worn out from the pain of it all, returning to his prone and ragged breathing.

Slowly, a smirk appeared on his face.

“It seems I have overestimated myself. Yes – movement is impossible. And without that right, I am without all rights. But you, you are not of this place, are you? An outsider, here... But how peculiar. I wonder if there are ever more scrambling for the wealth of it then I thought?”  
  
“Do not overextend yourself. What do you mean?”  
  
Hyphen circled him, trying to figure out what she might be able to do to help, but even years of tending to Gerald and his people would not have prepared her for treating the Manumitter. It was clear he was part machine, or aided by machines. The kind borne of metal, Gerald's machines. Some seemed a kind of life-support, and most all were failing.

“... You are too kind. Why? What is your goal, gaoler? If you have come to take my pride, you shall not. It is **my last right** , and **it is mine!** I will not relinquish it to you!”  
  
But his blustering was pointless with the life leaving him by the moment, and they both knew it.   
Whatever strange ideals he clung to, if she had wanted, they would have not been difficult to destroy.  
  
Not that Hyphen did.  
Curling to the ground and placing her hands against her legs, she stared at him intensely.  
  
“Relinquish your will and testament, then. You do not have time, by my estimate. Would you rather your pride stood in the way of others remembering you?”  
  
And the Manumitter was silent for a long time, and she wondered if perhaps he had died before he could even respond.

“... I will speak with you, imp. Know that this is the last will and testament of he who would be known as Manumitter, before his return to the final freedom due all who yet live.”  
  
The Manumitter's glassy eyes closed, and around them the cavern walls began to fade as if by magic, though Hyphen could recognize it as nothing so spiritual;  
  
After all, it seemed to have been poached from the organic projection technologies of her realm.

Bristling, she watched with unconcealed interest as the caves were replaced with great fields of the huge plants that Gerald wistfully referred to as trees.   
She decided, a little sheepishly, that she would classify them Gerald Trees if she got a chance to preserve her work on this place.

Afield from the canopy of the trees was an estate in far better repair than most of the decaying and crumbling buildings of this realm, held together through arcane forces and (she felt) a great deal of luck.   
It was simple, too, and would be vulnerable to attack – and yet she felt from it a sense of peace and strength that few other buildings had projected.

“What you behold is my manse. My demesne, where I retreat to regrow, to heal my wounds; to grow MY plants, and no-one else's. Not hers, but mine. **My own.** ”

The Manumitter could not even sound angry, anymore.

“It was my sanctuary and my place of rest, and it was defiled. I had found it, you see. The rune of this place. The deepest magic that had been cast into the dark pits, and it was mine.”  
  
And the architecture began to twist and howl, pulsating and decaying with the health of it's master; perhaps it was held together by his force of will, or perhaps he was simply manipulating the images to show her how he felt.  
  
Hyphen simply watched, saying nothing.

“The man – I had not known there was such power in such brutal and soft creatures. It was just the one, and he was terrible; like a storm of hateful desire. He rushed others to their freedoms, their final freedoms. My servants are dead, or twisted. But – but, I do have the last laugh, even as he has given me my final freedom. For you see...”  
  
Slowly, the Manumitter smiled a horrific smile, the unnatural sight of his lips stretched like a fleshy scar over his face.

“In his victory, I have given him his last freedom, as well.”  
  
Waving his hand, the Manumitter's images changed to a familiar sight – a sigil like the kind she and Gerald had found in the realm of that great fiery beast.   
Hyphen stared at with unconcealed interest, glad that the Manumitter could either not see, or chose not to comment on her naked curiosity.

“The rune did not respect him. He did not understand it, you see. He felt the rules of this place worked differently then they did, and it changed him, and poisoned him, and soon he will be dead. His weapons will not save him, or his power. A prize, I think, worthy of my final freedom...”  
  
“What do you think will become of it. The rune?”  
  
Hyphen interrupted without planning to, meaning no disrespect but wondering if they had lost their chance – if she had lost her chance at acquiring this second sigil.  
It was not important to her, exactly – she had no plans for it.  
But perhaps they were the key to this place, and leaving it behind... Or perhaps it simply was a way to keep her mind free from the worries the surfaced all too easily.

“I cannot say. They have a way of finding new places to hide, of testing the power of those who might claim them. If you seek it, I do wish you luck. You have listened to me, after all. I now have no regrets. Freedom will claim me, and I will be transformed...”  
  
She watched the life leave him, and was glad for her isolation, so that none would see the clinical fascination dancing across her dark eyes.   
If, perhaps, the Manumitter was one of the last of his kind in this place, much like she and Gerald might be the last of their kind, or close...  
  
 _What an interesting situation she was in._

Death had claimed the Manumitter, and he moved no more.   
And even if he had, her dissection would have ensured that he freed no others; perhaps it would've been wise to do as such to other, earlier specimens, but Gerald would perhaps not have been so kind if he had known what the science of **stases** fully entailed.

Much like the engineered beasts of her home, bits of organics had been replaced or supplemented with machinery, though not grown.   
Ah, for the pink guardian-beasts with their great metal legs...   
  
Her wistful memories of their cute faces as they first ate through their own skin made her feel at once nostalgic, and foolishly sentimental.

Very few liked time-wasters like that, lost in childish reverie and adorable things that had no real value.   
Frowning in the grimtoothed manner that she liked so little, Hyphen wiped the mixture of oil and blood from her left claw and continued her exploration.

It seemed the Manumitter had not been long for life even before whomever came for him; if it was Victor as she suspected, perhaps the violent human had been a mercy.   
Many simple sores and wounds had grown infected, another downside to the soft and fleshy beings of the world. 

Thinking back to her own little pink, she remembered when it kept trying to eat more of itself, and the skin around it had grown mushy and easily discolored.   
Young as it was, the beast wasn't intelligent enough to treat its own wounds, so they had replaced more of it with crudely sewn-in machinery, not grown properly...  
It had finally learned to wed the two, though it had always seemed runtier to her than the others -

Hyphen sighed, and stared at the carefully lain-out bits of Manumitter before her.

“... I have learned nothing. Haven't I. How – _how awful._ ”  
  
And perhaps because of her association with Gerald, she did feel a little awful.   
Not for taking apart something that looked a little like him, aged and through a lens darkly, nor because it had been 'cruel' – the Manumitter was dead, after all.   
Only the superstitious would care for something so unimportant.

But _he_ might have cared, and it was strange how encouraging that was.

… He was alive, yes. He must be.  
And she would live, too, and they would escape. And perhaps find others.  
  
She would not die like this, here.

Rebuilding her optimism piece by piece as intricately as she had taken the corpse of the Manumitter apart, Hyphen decided that the most fitting burial rite she could offer (and the one last curiosity she held) was incineration.

His corpse burned wonderfully, and soon only ash remained.

Returning to the myriad passageways before, she tried to figure out where she might go next, and was struck by an odd idea.

Her sense of scent was rather bad, only the strongest of smells carrying well in the deep pits and fires of Deimos.   
But she could remember well the strange, sour citrus smell of the trees they had passed earlier, and some of them looked as if they might have even been present on the Manumitter's estate.

And she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and she could smell them with her skin, just so.

The right-hand tunnel curved upwards and was pockmarked with bits of blood and oil, both dried and no longer recent; it was obvious that this was the way the Manumitter had fled.   
And perhaps that would have alarmed her, or warned her off the path if she had not found him, first...  
  
A lucky coincidence.  
  
When it opened up, it did not open up into the estate itself, much to her slight disappointment.   
Rather, there was a huge ebony wall that stretched as far as the eye could see, almost blotting out even the rise of the cavern ceiling itself.

Though she was quite skilled in climbing, both from her biology and her inclinations (it was a pleasant pastime, after all, and a handy skill at that), there was no way she could scale such a monstrous barrier, nor did it look like there were even a way across.

So. _So, so, so._   
  
What might be done to disregard it, somehow?  
  
Hyphen paced, chittering nervously, deep in thought. She soon became so lost in her ideas she almost missed the figure walking by her; almost.

But she hid in an instant, as she knew well to do, all but vanishing beneath the rock outcropping that had grown up before her.

… The man that walked past looked miserable.   
And he strode past, wearing drab colors and a strange unblinking glance that bored into the rifle he carried, and perhaps his reflection in it –   
Before he turned around and walked the way he came.  
  
And he paused, and turned, and paused - and turned, again. Several times.  
Many times.

Finally, he left the way she'd arrived, and she wondered if he knew Gerald, or if he was a new arrival.   
She'd been tempted to approach, but humans could be frightful survivors, even when not prey to violent impulses...

It behooved her to remain hidden, especially since his melancholy had given her an interesting idea.

Dragging her wounded leg behind her and testing it against the cavern floor that received just enough light to grow pale lichens and sparse mosses, Hyphen bounded up to the wall and ran her fingers against it, then her shoulder-blade.   
Neither had much of an effect, as she'd imagined.

But the glum human had arrived from somewhere, and even if it was nowhere in particular...   
He wasn't the only one who could navigate such pathways, was he?  
  
 **Compression** was an awful, difficult thing. **Dynamic** specialists often talked about how easy it was to tunnel to horrible, far-off realms that were only cold and filled with machines. Growing better ones over them wasn't difficult, of course, but cold and heatless places...

The air blurred around her, and the scent of steam and burning atmosphere invigorated her.   
Hyphen felt, rather than saw, the endpoint of the wall beyond her – and it felt perhaps twenty to thirty feet beyond, just within the distance she felt safe jumping.

Air snapped around her, and then she hurtled forward and exploded out of the empty space beyond the huge barrier, rather then in it, and fresh air replaced the musty odor of the cavern and the wondrous purple sky cast its strange light down upon her..!  
  
Hyphen cooed happily at her success, inordinately proud of herself.   
But then again, she _had_ done it, hadn't she?   
If you could just keep your mind focused on a task, and not let yourself be distracted by its perceived impossibility, there was little you could not achieve..!  
  
Far beyond her rose fields of trees, great and foreign.   
She had gone from T. Gerald to T. Hyphen before the realization hit her that as amusing as her naming convention might be to her – if she did escape, if they did escape, there would have to be a better system in place.

_Were trees common where he lived,_ she wondered...

“My, you look so lost. Are you all right, little one?”  
  
“Oh? Oh?...”  
  
Hyphen chittered nervously, nearly jumping out of her carapace.  
The woman who approached her seemed absolutely _overwhelmingly strong,_ in the way that the most long-lived tyrants back home lived.  
So, naturally, Hyphen almost immediately admired her, even if only because of who she imagined the woman to be.

“Are you, possibly. The individual who refers to herself as Sunny?”

From where she had been sitting atop a tall, jagged rock that had been braced with all manner of strings, the woman – so tall, taller then Hyphen herself! – jumped to the ground, dusting off her skirts casually, and smiling.  
  
Always smiling.  
  
“Yes. I wonder if we've met somewhere before? Oh, but I'd probably remember someone so distinct. You look lost, however... Are you?”  
  
Hyphen chewed her words over carefully, watching the serene smile on the woman's face like she would watch a dangerous beast moving in for the kill.   
There was no hostility there, for the moment.   
And yet...  
  
“I am just looking. For a friend. I did not mean to interrupt your...”  
  
And she grappled for whatever the woman might have been doing, for it seemed to all the world as if she had just been sitting against the rock, staring into the sky, and watching it pass as if it were the most natural thing to do in the world.

Perhaps, Hyphen thought, a little jealously, that _was_ natural in worlds where there was a sky.

“Mmmn! We have the same taste in friends, I think. Not that I really consider _anyone_ my friend, but... An almost-friend of an almost-friend is pleasant indeed, aren't they? Only, there are some truly terrible things up ahead. Do you really feel comfortable going on your own?”  
  
Hyphen decided to continue walking, and the woman easily caught up with her.   
Sunny's strides were long and even, and despite her sense of balance, Hyphen felt oddly graceless next to her.   
  
Perhaps it was the way she moved almost perfectly in linkstep without seeming to try, or perhaps...

“If I have to. Yes. I would go through any trial, if I must. There is no point in staying where I am. As pleasant as the trees here, are...”  
  
“They _are_ wonderful, aren't they? **A long time ago, there were trees like this in other places, too.** Ah, but something awful happened to them. It is amazing how quickly something can be consumed, for all time – never to be outside of a memory. Isn't it..?”  
  
“Yes?”  
Hyphen hazarded, but Sunny wasn't blinking – just watching her, with a ferocious intensity that made the smooth orange of Hyphen's carapace crawl with self-doubt.

“How unusual. I don't often encounter things like you that appreciate them.”  
  
“... I was thinking of trying to name them. For scientific purposes. Not. Not individually...”  
  
“Wonderful! Oh, but that might even make them popular in _your_ home, mightn't it? I support this initiative! Ah, so I suppose you have to survive, at least long enough to write whatever you're going to write... Do your kind write?”  
  
“Not often. Not in the same way. But I will, I think. About what I've seen here...”  
  
Hyphen began, and Sunny brushed a strand of long, pale-green hair from her face. It was almost the same color as the lichens she had passed Hyphen felt; and like them, it seemed to smell of earth, and of soil.

“Very well. Then **we shall make a little pact,** here. Up ahead is something a lot of people seem to want. I'm sure you know what I'm speaking about.”  
  
Sunny paused, and if it had been possible for her smile to get wider, it would've...  
Only to slice itself away, leaving her expression all but blank.

“Do _you_ desire it, _too?_ ”  
  
“... Yes. I think I do.”  
  
Once again, the smile returned to her face, and Sunny beamed an intense and wondrous smile that Hyphen tried to return, even if she suddenly felt the weight of how peculiar she must look to – to others.   
And Hyphen tried to imitate the way Sunny held herself, and Sunny didn't laugh or even look as if she minded.

“What pleasant honesty! You're full of surprises. I hope you don't become too lost, like that poor man. A secret, between you and I – I was hoping he'd figure a way past that strange structure, so we could meet, but he gave up all too easily. I truly hate people who give up.”  
  
“I! _I do,_ as well!”  
  
Hyphen murmured, meaning every word of it. The knife-edges of her knuckles eased forward, and Sunny watched with a curiously-raised eyebrow.  
  
“Oh, interesting. Do you use those for combat, normally?”  
  
“No. Climbing, and eating. Mostly. They are quite useful in a pinch, though.”

Around them, the forest was finally beginning to give way, and with it, its pleasant scents.   
The mixture of tree-smell and resin-smell began to fade away, going from strength to weakness as they were replaced with the unmistakable odor of rot, and – something else.

Hyphen decided that if it were possible for hardened, diseased bone to have a smell, that was what the scent was.

Sunny sighed dramatically, raising a hand to her eyes as if to ward off a sun that did not exist her; as far as Hyphen knew, there was no sun orbiting Elsewhere, after all;  
Or Elsewhere was a compartment of some other place, or perhaps even an underground with an underground, sealed away in a superplanet.

“Well, your courage and honesty are both surprising, but I do hope you don't try to fight too often. It has a way of becoming rote, and I don't think it's right for someone so polite to resort to bloodshed too easily. This place has a way of bringing out the best in people... I'll miss it, when I leave.”  
  
“Do you – _really think I'm polite_...”  
  
“Very. You've been a wonderful conversationalist, and not run off. It's amazing how many people do just that, though I suppose it's all a matter of perception, at the end of the day... Eight eyes might just see clearer then two, mightn't they?”  
  
And, something about that comment made Hyphen stare at Sunny, truly stare at her.

She was a tall human, or **human-like creature;** perhaps, like the Manumitter, she was some distant cousin of them, or related only so far as she had modified herself over countless ages.   
And she had all the features Hyphen had come to associate with humans; soft skin, apparent fragility, the two burgundy eyes, and...

A feeling of dread hung over her for a minute, and Hyphen could not say _why._

“Is something the matter, or do you need a moment before we continue? I am never in a rush to do anything, and that leg of yours looks as if it could do with a rest...”  
  
“Nothing is the matter, but... But I must find my friend. If you please.”

Hyphen insisted, and Sunny gave her a knowing smile...   
And then murmured her _full, true name_ as easily as if she had possessed all the sounds of the rest of Hyphen's kin.

“Oh, gentle-hearted girl; you are, I think, too kind for this place. Not in the right way of course, but few are. So, we'll do this quick. Please hold perfectly still.”  
  
And Hyphen was too paralyzed by the sounds of her own name, coming from what were strange and human tones, to notice the way Sunny had positioned herself between her wounded leg and her hip, her hands gently pressing against the two, and then...  
  
The screams mixed with whimpering as Hyphen shut her eyes tightly in pain...  
And then, out of instinct, gave her leg a slight wiggle.

It felt – really good, actually.  
  
“How. _How did you do that._ ”  
  
“You can solve most things by hitting them hard enough, and I suppose I just hit the wound hard enough that I murdered it into obeying you. Now we can make good time, and hopefully find your friend! Ah, but I'm feeling lazy and slightly ornery, so... Please be advised.”  
  
Ahead, Hyphen could she the source of what she surmised was her companion's lazy orneriness.   
  
What had once been a humble mansion house, grown to suit the needs of the Manumitter, had stretched far over its intended boundaries until it flattened the land around it, driving away grass and plants and creeping forward odd, discolored stone that wiggled and leaked onto the despairing earth.

“... Even dead, he's annoying, isn't he...”  
  
Sunny murmured, perhaps rhetorically.  
  
Hyphen did not reply.  
  
“Well, we'll make short work of this. Be careful, and stick very close to me. Or don't – but I've been feeling especially tired, too. **I think I'll feel less tired, soon,** but I do not want my mistakes to put you in more danger. Shall we?”  
  
Hesitantly at first, but with increasing comfort and familiarity, Hyphen bobbed her head, and the tall woman beamed at her for the second time, placing a lukewarm hand against Hyphen's orange shoulder and clasping it tightly.

“Fantastic. Well then – let's go find _whomever it is you're looking for_ , shall we?”

 


	16. E2M5 - Self-Consumption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You – you really are something, Hyphen. 
> 
> I think about the weight of it all, the idea of it. A lot, more often then I should.  
> And I don't think I could call myself stoic... Even before.
> 
> Before all of this.
> 
> What is stoicism, though?  
> Are we supposed to _deny_ how awful it all is?  
>  I can't do this alone. Please, be all right. Please...  
> ~

[The interior of the mansion pulsed with a frightful energy. ](http://fun-other.ambient-mixer.com/brinestump-marsh)  
Around them hung great tapestries, ripped to shreds where the walls had burst open, great clumps of mildew that moved and writhed as if jostled by a strange force, or perhaps heavy with eggs...

Beneath them was a strange and tiled checkerboard floor; it seemed to alternate between a deep russet and a dirty grey-white.  
Hyphen couldn't place her reasons, but she felt as if whatever the danger had been, it had long since past – even as the aftermath was terrible, in its own way.

“Wretched, isn't it. To have such a fine sense of self and purpose, and then lose it all in the end...”  
  
“Is that it. What happened here?”  
  
“... To be honest? I cannot truly say. Oh, I know the _how_ of it, of course; but the _why,_ that's a reason for scholars and adventurers and people **too preoccupied with truth.** ”  
  
Sunny's bright smile wavered for a moment, dappled with self-amused laughter that she only just restrained.  
Before them, at the end of the foyer hall, a painting fell to the ground – it had been utterly defaced, the eyes grown over with mold and fluctuating growths, bits of canvas torn...  
  
When it fell, it did not crash to the ground, but collapsed to it with a deflated whimper.

Hyphen cautiously loped forward and eased the painting up – careful not to touch the still-wiggling cysts that covered it.  
She could not tell the subject, only that they were younger then the Manumitter, and perhaps more healthy.

“Don't waste time with this place. Whatever stories it could tell you, they're not really important to anyone. And after all, we've got an important task ahead of us, don't we?”  
  
“Yes. But I do not view caution as time wasted.”  
  
Hyphen bristled, feeling oddly chastened. Her companion seemed to be watching her analytically, perhaps amused by the demon's antics – and Hyphen felt certain that she did not want to be just a source of amusement, but contribute, somehow...  
  
“You're not wrong, but this could be so much simpler. Take a look above you.”  
  
Raising two eyes above the foyer, Hyphen could clearly make out an elaborate wooden door, dark and imposing. There was no clear way to get to it, and that made it suspect, but –  
  
“Look! A shortcut has appeared!”  
  
Sunny smashed her clenched fist into a chunk of the wriggling wall; it wheezed, coating the air with dust and unidentifiable particulates.  
Hyphen stayed very still, eyes wide and unfilmed as she did her level best not to breath.

And her companion hefted the once-wriggling beam as if it were a light step-ladder, planting it so firmly into the ground that the floor cracked and spat up dirt and stone.  
She paused, examining her work for a half-second before striking a few holds into it with several swift blows.

“You'll find that the more secure people want to make a place seem, the more reason they have to hide things there. All the more reason to force their hand... Do you want me to go first?”  
  
“ _Oh, ah._ That is. Fine...”  
  
Hyphen murmured, not sure what the right answer was – and once again, Sunny seemed incredibly amused, not even bothering to hide her laughter as she quickly navigated up the makeshift ladder.  
Hyphen hesitated for only a moment before following, surprised at how small the foyer looked from the balcony above...

Several precious-seeming urns had been placed atop it, invisible from what had once been a fine overhanging ledge.  
They were made of a golden metal that was oddly captivating, if a little gaudy, and Hyphen felt that they would probably make an excellent conductor, if grown properly.

Watching her with that same, undefinable expression, Sunny brought her knee into one of the urns; it spilled forth a goopy, viscous liquid that smelled faintly sweet and pooled around their legs before evaporating into the stiff and dust-laden air.

“Odd. I hadn't expected – whatever that was. _How interesting._ Should we try setting it on fire?”  
  
But Hyphen wasn't feeling amused herself, anymore.  
Something about what they were doing didn't feel right exactly, no – it felt like a test of some kind, and she was no friend to the tests of others, no matter how impressive they were, no matter how strong they were.

“No. That is quite enough. We came here to access that door. We should access it.”  
  
“Very well. I'll pick the lock.”  
  
The door crashed down around them, its golden keyhole pointless against the strength of Sunny's silver-mannered ferocity.  
Where it had stood, a gigantic open garden rose up toward a high-ceiling, rich with stained glass.

A large fountain fed into a larger pool, attended by strange three-winged bird with black feathers that seemed to reflect the pale light of the place.  
One made a strange, choking cry, and darted into the air – and its peers followed, dropping a trail of inky feathers to the waters below.

They floated gently before sinking into the clear depths, where tiny worm-like creatures pulled themselves greedily forward.

Sunny watched it all with a sense of peaceful contentedness on her face that Hyphen felt much more at ease around; the hint of her smile rose more genuinely, and she blinked, rather then staring until you thought her eyes might bore their way into yours, and...

“Even odd people can have beautiful places, it seems. It would make a fitting memorial. Perhaps something should be done to that effect. Assuming nothing happens to separate us, would you be so kind to remind me..?”  
  
“Yes, I like that idea. Ah, but – what were you thinking? Many of the places here have seemed...”  
  
_Overwhelming, hostile._  
  
She tried to think of a word to describe the ominous architecture that loomed over Elsewhere like a cloud, threatening those within at every possible turn; but there wasn't a single word for it, and Hyphen had felt that if there _had_ been, it would've been vile to even utter it.

“I did not know him, but in passing. He had peculiar ideas, but most do. He simply took them farther then others; and I think it would be best to grow hanging vines from the roof, of all colors and sizes.”  
  
Sunny shut her eyes, and her smile slowly disappeared – but it was strange, for all of the mysteries Hyphen felt the soft-skinned peoples posed, without that smile it seemed almost as if Sunny was more happy, not less.  
  
“An arrangement like so would be pleasant, and perhaps pay tribute to those lives the Manumitter 'freed' so much as his own death. I would also like to see a willow, there; near the center of the pool. It would probably suit the birds well, I imagine...”  
  
“Oh? Are they not hostile...”  
  
“No, of course not. _They're birds._ Loud, and possibly annoying, but – _goodness..._ ”  
  
Shaking her head in familiar, mild amusement, Sunny folded her arms against her chest and stared down at Hyphen, smiling faintly once more.

“And after all, if they _were_ dangerous, and if they _did_ theoretically desire nothing more then to flutter over and leave only dark feathers across the picked-clean ruins of our flesh, we would just devour _them_ first. Such is the way of the world...”  
  
Her head tilted to the side, quizzically.  
  
“Do you care for gamey birdflesh?”  
  
“All meats are delicious...”  
  
Hyphen answered nervously, feeling as if this were some other test.  
Sunny watched the birds circle lazily overhead, her eyes quite narrow – but not quite as narrow as that smile.  
  
“... Hmn. Well, I agree, but I guess we don't need to kill any of them right now. Are you well-fed, and taking care of yourself..? Well, I'll let you worry about your own cares, but I do so want to be a good host.”  
  
Once again, Hyphen refrained from answering clearly; she wasn't sure she trusted herself to, for in the barely-present light, she felt certain she had figured out what it was that unnerved her slightly about Sunny.

To her people, strength was power and rulership, yes, but there were also those who were terrifying because they did not desire such things.  
And they just did what they pleased, and very few stopped them.  
And often they lived long lives, indeed, until their homes were simply avoided, by those who were not brave, or foolish...  
And maybe they never died, not naturally, no...  
  
“I feel well. Thank you. You are a superlative host. _AHAHAHAHAHAHA._ ”  
  
“Oh, my... What sort of laughter is that?”  
  
Unable to contain her own laughter, Sunny doubled over and the weird atmosphere dissipated in an instant.  
Hyphen felt positively elated that she'd learned to laugh well, for clearly it was a useful skill.  
  
“As it is, I am not a very skillful polyglot. I am still practicing. And the circumstances we are in, and the danger of these runes... I do not have time to learn. As quickly as I would like.”  
  
“Oh, believe me, I do understand.”  
  
Sunny wiped mirth from her eyes, though not once did her gaze leave Hyphen. She had began walking again, to where several doorways lay open, one missing its door entirely.  
It seemed to lead to some grand suite or bedroom, and Sunny showed no interest in it.  
The other, however, led to a deep void, where all the paltry light in the manse seemed to well up and disappear...

“I think I shall tell you a secret, though I warn you wholeheartedly – it isn't the kind of secret that I'd like you to share. People might assume the worst of me, that I know it in the first place..!”  
  
“Your secrets are safe with me. Gossip is not my specialty.”  
  
Hyphen spread her teeth wide, grinning just at the thought.  
Rumors were fun to listen to, but less fun to spread; they always came back to haunt you at the worst time, and she never had the heart to wound another so.  
To say nothing of the effort one had to put into spreading them, which took time away from other pleasant diversions, like magmadiving...  
  
Sunny leaned in close, hand halfway to her lips, though nobody else was listening.

“This place used to be peaceful, and those who lived here gentle.”  
  
All of Hyphen's eyes blinked simultaneously.

… Sunny mirrored her earlier smile, and though she did not have rows of teeth, and they were not jagged like knives and barbed wire, there was no mistaking a threat for what it was.

“Ah– but I'm **tired** **of this place.** ”  
  
Yawning, Sunny stretched from side to side and poked her head into what might have once been the Manumitter's bedroom. Her eyes opened wide for a minute in surprise.  
  
“Hmn, curious. I felt certain that the rune'd be on the counter or something, its new owner unable to take it very far. It looks like I underestimated him. Are you curious as to what the former Manumitter called his home-at-home?”  
  
Despite the lure of her curiosity, Hyphen afforded the room only a brief glance, brief enough to see the empty shelves, thick with dust, the bookshelves that held no books, the bed that long been unslept in with its rich red sheets, and the powder on the floor that occasionally drifted through the streaks of dim light.  
  
“Not really. As you said. We have more important business to attend to. I do not, however. Like the looks of that room. Can you see in there?”  
  
“Oh, the dark doesn't bother me, either – thank you for asking. But that is – “  
  
“A trap.”  
  
“Hah, very good. Anyway, I already explored it, myself. It leads to a horrible little pit, and at the end of the pit there is a wheel of blades – and the blades slice and chop, but they're mostly overrun now; the real danger is the smell, which is quite atrocious.”  
  
Sunny's eyes danced from object to object as they spoke, and despite her casual tone, the tall woman never stopped looking for something, some object or another that might hide a secret switch or lever, or otherwise reveal a further passage that they were searching for...  
  
“Can't you just do as you did earlier?”  
  
And though Hyphen had been cautiously joking, Sunny blanched a few steps backwards as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
“What a wonderful idea! Alley-oop!”  
  
The floor split in two as her fist struck it; when the two met again, the room shook, and the ruined mixture of strange pseudoflesh and wood gave up the ghost. The pit that opened up beneath them dropped down straight into what seemed to be a barren desert, though Hyphen had noticed no such desert nearby, nor any terrain that could possibly support or hint at such a waste...

“Let's go! I've got a good feeling about this, don't you?”  
  
And, laughing, Sunny dropped down into the pit.  
[Hyphen followed not a second after.](http://desert.ambient-mixer.com/only-desert-wind)

Beneath them, the ground was soft and the comforting warmth of sand glistening beneath the spike-sheathed claws of her feet was wonderful; it felt almost as if some of the worries and cares she had were easing away, warmed by the glistening beads of sand...  
  
Sunny sniffed the air dismissively, shaking one of her boots free and emptying it of a few tiny grains of sand, almost invisible to the unaided eye.  
  
“So it begins. I cannot claim to be overly fond of such places, natural as they may be... Oh, but you seem quite happy. Does this remind you of your home?”  
  
“No. Not at all. But the warmth is pleasant. If time were not important I might...”  
  
And Hyphen paused, wondering if she would just consign herself to a pleasant nap; if - when they found Gerald, and they _would_ , if he might not like to just lie amidst the sand and listen to the breeze drafting from the distant manor above, this comforting dark surrounding the two of them...

Oh, and possibly Sunny, who was staring at her with joy.  
  
“Whatever you were thinking of, it seems sublimely pleasant. I can only support such fantasies, or I should not be myself... Would you like a moment?”  
  
“No, not at all. I feel well. And ready for anything..!”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Sunny smiled briefly, but not unkindly, and slipped her boot back on, turning to face the distant darkness.  
And she apparently could see well in the near-night, as well; Hyphen could make out the distant rise of blue marble she was staring at – it looked like a dungeon, of the kind you might keep a valuable prisoner, or a valuable secret...  
  
“I wonder if he staggered all the way there through the sand, clutching it to his chest in the hopes it might protect him...”  
  
“Gerald?!”  
  
“Hmn-hmn, I wonder when you'd confirm my suspicions!.. No, no. The man we're looking for. Gerald Copeman isn't dead, if you're quite worried about him.”  
  
And Hyphen was silent, for fear anything else might show just how worried she had been.  
Sunny made no attempt to make fun at her expense, however; the neutral, tightly-coiled seriousness she wore a stunning change from her almost-laughter mere seconds ago.

Raising a hand to her face and shield those teeth, the tall woman bit her lip - hard enough to draw blood.  
She did not look surprised, and it trickled down her face to the sand below, disappearing amidst the grains.

“Do you know, such bits and bobbles tend to be frightfully unpleasant. I rather wish people would stop looking for them in the hope they'll solve things. It would be much better to just lie back, and let the world carry you away, though I suppose I am biased in the matter...”  
  
“The man you are looking for, he is. Dangerous. Isn't he...”  
  
“Quite. Or he _was,_ but he won't be now.”  
  
“... And he was never dangerous to you.”  
  
Sunny smiled wanly.  
  
“Oh, I'm not sure about that. I'm an observer and nothing more.”

As lies went, it was almost believable.  
Then, hefting her right arm towards the distant blue edifice, she gave a curt nod.  
  
“If we're going to be making our way over there, I need you to promise me that you'll be incredibly careful. I cannot tell you why exactly, but just in case you see anything that doesn't seem to make sense, I'd prefer you not act too shocked.”  
  
“Nothing here makes sense. It is all – senseless.”  
  
Hyphen began, as they walked.  
Sunny responded by half-curling a smile into being, listening as if she felt the statement to be incredibly _amusing_ and incredibly _wrong;_ but not bad, in and of itself.  
  
“The geography does not seem to follow any defined order. Constantly! We are led places, to be shown things. But there is no unified hand that I can perceive. Death is always looming and yet! _Yet, yet!_ ”

“Yet..?”  
  
“Somehow, the longer I stay here – the more natural it feels. Almost.”  
  
Hyphen ground her backteeth irritably against her foreteeth, glad she had cut herself off.  
There was no need to go trusting Sunny, no matter how friendly she might act.  
  
“Ah, so close – well, I don't blame you for finding it as such. There is an order to it, or perhaps not. I can never decide myself. But it is rather funny that of two who have survived so far, it is yourself and a failure at arms?”  
  
Hyphen said nothing, not sure if she liked the implications; but it was clear as day on Sunny's face that she meant nothing by the statement at all; at least, nothing negative.

“The things we choose to value – that we see as conductive to our survival, they're often what we least expect. Hmn, and I think those who have come here often mistake their talents all too easily, though it doesn't matter. In the end – all things serve a purpose.”  
  
“Perhaps – “  
  
Hyphen began, and the blue edifice was upon them.  
It rose only a few stories above them, but plummeted into the earth below, with nothing but darkness visible beneath.

This was not a dungeon, not a prison; it was a place of torment, where those who had failed so utterly that even the hope they had of knowing hope must be erased.

Hyphen grimaced, even as she wondered at the culture that would construct such a vile monument...

“Mmn, well, he's dead if he's here. I think that's quite enough for me – I'm off to sleep for awhile. I'll be up soon enough, though it was truly a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hyphen.”  
  
“Yes. And to you – as well.”  
  
Hyphen smiled, both for the closeness of her objective and the fact that as strange as Sunny was – even more so then had been recounted to her by Gerald, if she had believed it to be possible! – there was a pleasant sort of kinship to her, and the hostility present..

What had he said, that if she had wanted them dead...  
  
“A few words of advice, however. I cannot say for certain, but it is unlikely there is an easy exit from such a place. I imagine you're quite the climber, but don't overestimate yourself.”

Sunny pursed her lips and hummed, doing an excellent job of almost hiding her yawn.

“Keep an eye open for – “  
  
“Traps. Yes! I'm very observant when it comes to them.”  
  
Hyphen said, with a bit more pride then she had intended.  
Sunny simply laughed out loud, her smile wide and carefree.  
  
“I had intended to say secrets, but those as well. Most importantly, however...”  
  
And she leaned so close that Hyphen was not sure what she was planning, for Sunny's eyes had gone narrow and her smile was lean and hungry and her whisper smelled of an unfamiliar scent and Hyphen's primal instinct was screaming at her to run and –  
  
“ **Do consider that you're not the first one to come here.** ”

For a brief moment Hyphen felt certain those dulled and harmless looking teeth might bite in to the side of her carapace, drawing forth ichor with joyous ease, but apparently that had been little more then a friendly warning – and Sunny withdrew, not even bothering to hide her yawn, this time.

“Oh, but I'm exhausted... I think I must retire. There is more that must be done, and it's a bother to do it myself, but... Well. Take care then.”  
  
“Yes... _Yes..._ ”  
  
Hyphen managed to reply, and Sunny strode away – slowly, yet with such great strides that her figure soon receded into the seemingly endless sands, as if she had simply vanished into the horizon from whence she came.

_Perhaps,_ the meticulous observer inside of her murmured,  _perhaps she had._

It was possible that Sunny, or whomever she was, knew how **compression** worked, or understood some mechanism, technological or organic, to duplicate it.  
But that knowledge was not pleasant to think about, for if she could freely navigate Elsewhere, well...

Steeling herself, Hyphen walked up to the gates of the blue obelisk.  
Around it was a very shallow moat, the water murky and full of strange swimming creatures that looked half-dead, and perhaps were.

Extending her shoulderspikes, she hissed at them, and they did not respond.

There was no clear way across, of course, but that could be solved easily enough.  
Falling to all fours, Hyphen scampered back, and then ran forward, taking a running leap over the moat and crashing against the other side; the blue stone fizzled as she struck it, sending a light jolt of electrical current through her resilient chitin.

Interesting – perhaps it was related to the creature she had seen some time ago, the one that could generate it's own internal power supply..?  
  
Resisting the call of further investigation, Hyphen circled the building, looking for any visible entrance; there was none, of course, for if there had been, the chance of escape (however slim) would remain for those imprisoned in this nightmarish tomb.

So she scampered up the sides, ignoring the mild tingling of electricity running through her.  
The top of the visible portion of the structure leered over the desert, the only visible structure in any direction save above; and in unusually sloppy construction, the roof of it had been hastily constructed out of removable planks...

Ah – it wasn't slipshod, but rather, they were removed when a new prisoner was brought to it. Heavy as they were, and with no handhold beneath them...

Hyphen placed the plank she had pried free back where it came from, and smiled a toothy smile.

Well – they burned well enough.

Soon, the wondrous and invigorating heat of ash and cinders fled, and she was left looking down, so utterly down that she almost felt the drop eat away at her; occasionally, the wall would be lined with a cell of some kind, but there was no other feature, besides what appeared to be an insulated and watery drop at the bottom.

… But wouldn't the force of the fall cause the victim to break their neck, or at least a great many bones, in the process?  
And she had no care to test how deep the distant tides were, not at all.

So Hyphen slid from wall to wall, glancing at the cells as they drifted by; simple and drab blocs that had tiny holes big enough for a portion of food to be placed, or perhaps a bowl on special days.  
And, of all of them, all blended together; and they were uniform in the rust of their gates, the emptiness of their chambers, and their gloom.

Hyphen shuddered – what a marvelously awful place.  
To be left alone, with no proof that there was even anyone else alive; the days passing perhaps automatically, with no way of marking their passage...  
Perhaps even the delivery of food itself was automated for the unfortunate wretches within, so that even if their captors should die, they would be kept alive in this place?..

Chittering nervously, she pulled herself to an abrupt stop above the ground floor.  
The water was not deep at all, but strongly insulated with what appeared to be a large and canopy-like fungus. The fungus smelled incredibly sweet, though she felt if it was strong enough for her to notice so easily, it might be overwhelming to others.

But she did not care to drop to the pale blooms of the fungus net below, instead clinging to the shadows...  
Eyes filming over before she opened them again, cautiously.

For below, a scene of intense combat had unfolded.  
  
One of the great beasts, the ones she had seen earlier, white-furred and without visible eyes, with only the great and blood-reddened teeth and claws it wore standing out from the fur...  
Lay dead on the ground, riddled by sharp nails.

Around it lay clusters of knights, their armor rent; and around them the ruined meat haunches of the grunt-beasts, some pierced and others apparently exploded by their own munitions, mere chunks of gore and bone.  
  
Humanoid corpses, pale and grey in the way that she understood to be unnatural, were everywhere; their weapons broken and their munitions salvaged.  
And perhaps most horrifyingly of all, two insect-like creatures she felt a distant kinship to, perhaps because of their myriad eyes...

She deigned not to look at them.

In the center of the carnage lay Victor's corpse.  
He – had not been the initiator of it, if the look of surprised horror permanently etched onto his face was any indication.  
  
The paranoia immortalized in his last moments seemed not to have been enough, for whatever had slain him had done so with a great deal more empathy then it had shown the creatures around him; a single round had lodged itself in the back of his armored head, looking as if it had not had enough strength to pierce that reinforced armor...

But kill him it had – Victor, whose true name was unknown, lord of a thousand battles and slayer of countless more...  
Lay dead, with not even the rune he had fought so hard for as proof of his prowess in combat.

And – just beyond him, walking softly over the beige stone bricks of the floor, was his murderer.

“Fucking useful, this. Can't _believe_ I didn't think of it before. But you're a pretty little thing, aren't you? Quite the treasure – I'll find a good use for you, when we're back home. _Won't I...?”_  
  
Whistling tunelessly, the grim-jawed human she had seen before finished painstakingly loading iron spikes into a cartridge, shoved the rune into his pocket and strode off into distant hallways, as Hyphen realized with abject horror that – if she wished to explore this place –

She had no choice but to follow him.

 


	17. E2M6 - Relapse, Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've become adept at killing the beasts of this place. They are all terrified of my light – my justice. The rest of the squadron is dead, but I persevere. I must; they tell me I am the last hope for humanity.  
> But I do not care about that, anymore.  
> This world is a hell, and by God, I shall break it for my own sake, as well as theirs.  
> And this blade of tachyons shall be my holy lance, and the demons here will fall before it.  
> ~

_[Drip. Drip.](http://nature-other.ambient-mixer.com/slime-s-delight-watery-cave) _

Hyphen recoiled from every falling bit of sludge, lest it betray her location.  
Every droplet of fetid water stung her chitin, making her carapace feel as if it'd dry out and crack apart, exposing the weak flesh within.  
  
But she had no other option, for the man she was following would occasionally stop, as if he _knew_ someone was watching him, and seek the proof of it.  
Glancing over his shoulder, pacing back and forth – doing anything and everything in his power to ascertain the location of his enemies...  
  
Real, and imagined.

Despite all his caution however, he did not notice her, for she stuck to the shadows and was silent even as she began to feel the inverse welts forming under her chitin, painful and impossible to scratch...  
Not that it would be wise to do so if she could.

Finally, they reached a cross-walk of sorts; a large device in the middle of open water, across which spanned three other exits.  
A rotary bridge connected them, one exit at a time, and likely controlled by some distant machinery...  
  
Or, as it would turn out, by some machinery close at hand.  
The man paused, a smug little smile dancing across his lips, as he pulled a winch and began to rotate it carefully.  
Two clicks later, the bridge had gone to the far left; and he, with it.

Hyphen was torn.  
What he had, she wanted; what he held was death.  
It was possible he knew where Gerald was, and perhaps was an ally... Or an enemy.  
  
His uniform had been torn in places and sewn back up several times;  
She had tried to identify him by Gerald's description, but her ability to distinguish humans was still not great, and if he had once worn the distinctive placard that identified his place of origin in that world, it had been lost at some point, or perhaps torn out.

And so she made her decision, waiting for several moments to make certain he would not return.  
  
Creeping forwards, she winched the cable taut, and crept across it – leaving no sign that any other had been in this room.  
It was possible he would return, and if so, she wished surprise to be her helper as much as it hindered him.

The right-hand path had once been filled with the denizens of this realm, more then she had ever seen in one place.  
Clearly, they had expected a fight – and clearly, they had not expected it enough.

Death, and its stench, strong and all too sweet, greeted her.  
Hyphen chittered nervously and began to root around in the corpses for some sign, something that might be useful.

She was about to give up on finding anything when she struck it.  
Buried deep within the flesh of one of the ogre-beasts was a key. Not a key of precious metal, obvious or valuable.  
And yet it had been clutched so tightly by it's occupant that when they had been slain, the heat had near-fused the key to its flesh, hidden from prying eyes.

Hyphen separated it from charred skin quietly.  
Was it a key to one of the many cells above? It did not seem fit for those locks, which were meant to be opened only rarely.  
Perhaps...

And she glanced up again. The path split left and right, though both curved around to the same place. She chose the left path at random, wincing every time she stepped against the rotten, creaky wooden flooring.  
  
Even with her claws retracted, it felt as if her every step was a strike of thunder, alerting others to her presence.

But it was soon drawn out by another noise – the sound of an elevator, automated, trying in vain to move from a floor above to the ground floor.  
Every time it grew close, it mulched a messy pile of meat a little more, before ascending pointlessly again.

Indifferent as the elevator was, it could not recognize that the pile of meat had once been one of the guardians of this place...  
  
And she could not recognize what the creature had even been.

Moving the corpse out of the way, she scampered to the elevator and then scurried up the shaft.  
Perhaps it had been foolish to move the unidentifiable corpse impeding the elevator, she thought, halfway up; but it was too late to 'fix' it, now.  
And the silence of the elevator as it came to rest on the ground below hung over her shoulders like a blade as Hyphen crawled to the floor above.

This seemed to be some sort of guard tower; perhaps where all the plethora of beasts that patrolled this dismal place gathered.  
It seemed there was food here, actual food; though she knew not what it was, only that she could process it, and the urge to fall upon it and eat greedily was strong.

But there was no time for that.

Hyphen rounded around small cells – noting that they were even smaller, perhaps, then the cells of the prisoners of this awful place.  
It seemed not even custodianship of this prison was a pleasant task; made as difficult and terrible as possible for those who might toil away there, for whatever reason she could not fathom.

A great console, metal in the manner of Gerald's devices, loomed out from one of the few large rooms, and Hyphen grew delighted.  
With time, she could have grown a proper device over this one – but that would have taken too much energy to **compress** the necessary components here, if she could even reach them through Elsewhere.

So she tried to isolate what the strange keys meant, even as she understood the green letters on the screen, in Gerald's exact language:  
**  
****NO ACCESS.**

Where brute force wouldn't work however, understanding might.  
It was clear that it was referring to some space within the prison, and after a great deal of patience, Hyphen managed to at least generate a small map, the color of which was a lighter, fainter shade of green.

And though she could not read it perfectly – there was no key included, perhaps for reasons of security – it detailed the _entire complex_ , so much as she could see.

Hyphen struck her teeth together in ebullient laughter, unable to contain herself.  
Nothing loomed from the dark towards her, neither prisoners nor killers, and she spent a few precious minutes committing the map to memory.  
It was hardly going to be perfect, of course, but..!  
  
With the aid of the map, Hyphen dashed back past the elevator, back past the pile of corpses, back to the central bridge – and carefully slid under it, clinging to the pillar it stood upon.

She had to be incredibly cautious – the water below was deep, and even if it were not vile enough, there were things within it...  
And they were not things that _swam,_ but they floated and cost long shadows, and paused every time they detected movement in the chamber above - as if they were one creature.

There was a small panel beneath the bridge – she'd guessed it was some sort of emergency control panel.  
Whether it was or not mattered little; it had gone unnoticed, and that meant it was both safe to explore, and untouched so far.

Hyphen pressed down upon the panel, the umber chitin of her palm unwavering until the bridge crackled to life.  
As it reached the halfway point, she quickly winched the cable back, and the bridge paused, just long enough.

With a tremendous running leap, she hurtled herself to the central plateau, just as the bridge assumed its earlier position.

Unwilling to wait and see if the mysterious stranger had noticed, she darted into the chamber – just cautious enough to evade any detection that might be present.

Not that she needed to worry, of course, for a familiar figure was slumped over in the small half-room, apparently unwounded, but unconscious.

“Gerald! Gerald!”  
  
Hyphen chittered as loud as she dared, scampering towards him into the unlit chamber...

Only for the figure kneeling over Gerald to loom up, blackened armor only just reflecting the terror in Hyphen's eyes.  
  
[The stock of the strange metal gun slammed into Hyphen's forehead, knocking her to the ground.](http://steampunk.ambient-mixer.com/dark-landscape)

Hyphen chittered a pleading, screaming cry – but the human showed no mercy, holding the weapon to their waist, and pulling it taut.

Bolts of lightning slammed into Hyphen, all but ripping the carapace from her hip to her leg, and charring what the exposed skin underneath.

The lightning stopped with a final crackle, and the stranger paced around the demon, eyeblack underscoring exhausted eyes.  
Finally, satisfied that their target was dead, they fished a key from tightly-clenched claws and left, calmly, with only a cursory glance back to make sure the other human was safe; which, it appeared, he was.

… Gerald was aware of the sound of footsteps as he awoke.  
  
They were distant, perhaps imagined.  
All he could remember was – _and his mind shook in protest, and it was too terrible to contemplate_ – that he had fallen, and ended up in this prison, somehow.

In front of him was a note. Hyphen had pinned it to his shoulder, ages ago, or so it seemed.  
It had survived being waterlogged, beaten, and whatever void he had traversed; but at long last, the little fragment of bone she'd broken free to pin it to him had fallen off, and it lay in front of him.

 _To those who live. Fear not – I have found the secret of this place._  
So long as you call yourself human, no harm shall befall you.  
The owner of this house is a dead fool; so long as he is fed, he shall not attack you. I do not think he can be slain; do not engage him.

The handwriting was surprisingly flowery for the curtness of the message, if a bit late. He'd forgotten all about it, with everything that had happened –  
  
_Masterson._

His hand instinctively went towards his chest, but –  
There was no wound there, none at all.  
  
In fact, he felt good – better then good. Had something happened, to heal him? Was it – was it the rune?  
  
“Christmas, crackers... Christ...”  
  
Gerald murmured, and shut his eyes, trying to think about what to do, next.  
Something smelled faintly of smoke and char, and he couldn't get the scent out of his nostrils, nor see well in this darkened chamber...

Fumbling around, Gerald felt something crunch under his boot.  
Something insect-like, and chitinous.

His eyes widened and teared up, even as he knew.  
  
He _knew._  
  
“Hyphen..?”  
  
Whispering, he fell to the ground, not bothering to hide his tears.  
Her body had been horrifically burnt where fire would have had no effect, the black orbs of her eyes glassy and pallid –

But unfilmed.

Unthinkingly, he placed his ear to her black-scorched orange chest, and listened very carefully, remembering what it had sounded like as they were close –

Breathing.  
She was alive, just barely.

“Please, God, please – let her live, please...”  
  
Gerald murmured, shaking. There was no response, but he'd made his prayer; there did not have to be.  
  
“Right, okay, Hyphen – I'm going to, I'm going to move you. So don't wake up. We're going to get out of here and – “  
  
Maybe the rune would help. It had helped him, hadn't it; didn't seem to care who it was next to either.  
Waving it around like it was a charm rather then an artifact of unknown purpose and origin, Gerald set it next to where – where her carapace had cracked open.  
Underneath it her flesh was bone-white and larval, like maybe her kind grew their chitin, over time...  
  
The rune didn't do anything. No magical forces knit her flesh back together.  
  
Unlacing his left boot, Gerald tied the rune to her side, sobbing.  
It was the best knot he'd tied in his life – his father'd always, always...

And though he couldn't remember his family, it felt important.

And somehow he knew – he couldn't let Hyphen die, wouldn't.

She felt so light as he hefted her prone body over his shoulders; but she was bulky, and the doorway wasn't very wide.  
  
Moving slowly to avoid crushing her against it, Gerald walked to where a bridge had been pulled over some kind of moat, beneath them.  
It was a very strange moat, too – it looked as if it had been drained not too recently.

Charred corpses shifted against the little bit of fluid left, and Gerald made his decision.  
It took a while to knock the bridge free, but a broken bit of one of the knight's blades served as a decent entrenching tool.  
  
The rudimentary ramp was braced against the pillar, and he placed Hyphen against his waist and slid down it carefully and slowly.

Whatever odd blooming molds grew on the water, they alone had survived whomever had drained the water.  
No footprints were visible in the soft moat muck, so he didn't think they'd come down after having finished their grisly work.  
  
And there was an egress visible, though not a pleasant one. Ahead of them, an actual drop-off that he felt certain would've elicited a predictable and suspicious response from Hyphen –

Gerald grit his teeth and avoided looking at the burden in his arms –

– Well, regardless. It looked like it'd carry them down the flue and into what he could only imagine as the garbage pit of this place.  
It didn't seem too advanced, so maybe the prisoners and guards just let their waste accumulate at the bottom...

“No other option. Sorry, Hyphen.”  
  
The slide was smooth and well-carved, and to his surprise, it didn't lead to some disgusting refuse pit, but what appeared to be...  
Well, for lack of a better word, a place of worship, or perhaps sanctuary.  
Faces, horrifying to him but perhaps calming to the residents of this place, lined the walls.  
  
They had stout horns and bloodied faces, but seemed to be leering down in some sort of judgment, rather then anger.

… Feeling insignificant and oddly at peace, Gerald walked forward.  
Pale purple light drifted through the 'eyes' of the reliefs, cascading down upon him and the dying demon in his arms.  
It was appropriate, perhaps.

He bit back another sob. There wasn't time – there had to be something he could do, anything.  
  
_And what if there was..?_  
  
Shivers went through his flesh, and Gerald aware of what he was – a mere human, in an inhuman land. Here he was, in this chapel of strange beings, carrying for what all intents and purposes was an actual demon – desperate to do anything in his power to save her.  
  
_No matter the cost..?_  
  
“No matter the cost.”  
  
He whispered in reply to himself, or what he felt certain was himself.  
Around him, the reliefs seemed to have changed expressions subtly; no longer were they staring in judgment, but leering down at him.

The light began to fade away, and the room became completely dark in the blinking of a second.  
Gerald panicked, and nearly dropped Hyphen – somehow maintaining his composure as tiny sconces lit under the faces, illuminating them alone.

“Trap, aha, haha...”  
  
He murmured, expecting the chamber to incinerate the two of them, or perhaps just him; but nothing further happened even as he fought every biological impulse he had to drop Hyphen and hold his hands in front of him, protectively.

Instead – at the base of the chapel, where he was _certain_ there had been an ornate wall that could not _possibly_ have contained a secret passageway, or even a secret grotto...

A wide, wide passageway opened up – easily wider then the chapel itself had been.

… But there was no choice, wasn't there?  
  
They had to go on.

The passageway, carved from the blue stone he had seen all around this realm, was well-lit.  
Blue light poured into the passage from some source he could not see, and it felt like the chamber he and Hyphen had found some small measure of rest in before they came to this place.  
  
It was calming, overwhelmingly calming.

He made the mistake of glancing down.

She was not moving at all – of course.  
Breath was still coming, but very irregularly; he had to place his hands against her exposed flesh to feel it, and she showed no signs of feeling even that; perhaps there were no nerve endings outside of her chitin, or perhaps she was already in incredible pain, or perhaps –

Perhaps she felt nothing at all.

Looking deeply into those open, abyssal black eyes, Gerald whispered.  
  
“I promise we'll get through this, Hyphen. I'm going to show you, a a lot of things. We'll go on a cakewalk. It won't be like this, oh, God...”  
  
But of course, she didn't respond to his pleas, or his promises.

She didn't respond to anything.

The tunnel ended abruptly, dousing them both in blue light strong enough to be blinding.  
He raised Hyphen up to drown it out, or perhaps to bathe her in it, half-remembering a moment of safety it had provided, sometime before...  
Creating a faltering, desperate hope.

Nothing happened – but his heart skipped a beat.

In the strange blue cavern, where slime molds extended from the walls and the ground towards the same light their peers projected, someone had made a cache.  
Not just any someone; a _human,_ another _human._

There were medical supplies, several kinds of tools, including multiple copies of the axe he'd used, a rifle propped against the wall – though it looked more like a hunting rifle then anything else...  
But the medical supplies were what he'd needed, and he set upon them as if possessed.

He knew nothing almost nothing about her physical condition or biology, so it was guesswork, and even then it was sloppy. His emergency medical training had included a diagram on human anatomy and some of the more common supplies he was supposed to encounter.  
Not how to – how to clean and disinfect and zip up a demon.  
  
But he tried. He tried _everything._

Gerald put priority on cleaning and dressing Hyphen's exposed flesh, her actual flesh; it seemed the most vulnerable, and he didn't know what to do if it got infected bad; wasn't sure what he should amputate, if he should amputate anything...  
  
Next, he tried to wrap it up, hoping that maybe a new layer of chitin'd grow over it, if they were lucky.  
If she was lucky...

Finally, he fixed it up – the cocktail of stimulants, adrenaline, and painkillers they'd been promised reliable access to here; promising that at least if they were going to die, they'd die feeling a mix of euphoria and oblivion.

Trembling, he tapped the syringe and injected it into her.

Overcome with exhaustion, he knelt against one of the blue-lit walls, molds receding gently behind him as if anticipating his presence.  
They kicked up clouds of spores, and he didn't care enough to try not to inhale them. They filtered into his breath, clouded over his eyes, and the scent of them was as rich as cavernous soil.

… He shut his eyes, and Gerald Copeman half-dreamed of Earth.  
  
It was as memory as much as it was a dream, but the two bled together in a way that was impossible for him to separate.  
The Earth he remembered, before the invasion – it didn't exist, and never would again.  
  
But what was Earth like, now..?  
  
One eye opened lazily, and he half-dreamed of what it might be like to have no eyelid, but a film that eased over your sight, like Hyphen.  
He dared not glance at her, but placed his hand against hers, wanting to believe he felt it tighten even though he knew there was no way she could, even if she wanted to.

As for the rest of it – did it matter?  
If another gathered these runes, what did it matter?  
If they couldn't save a single life – if he couldn't save a single life...  
  
Curiosity overwhelmed caution, and he risked staring at her.

She was breathing shallowly, but more then she had been.  
He could feel her body's motion by placing his hand against the carapace of her waist, rather than that char-dusted, yet otherwise bone-white flesh.  
  
So – that was good, that was really good.

Exhaling, he stared up at the cavern roof.  
Strands of circular slime molds knelt down towards him, like arms reaching down from on high as if to comfort a crying child.

Unable to say why, he buried himself amongst them, letting the slime molds wrap themselves around him as he sobbed until his tears were dry and he felt more exhausted then he had thought possible.

But Hyphen was still breathing.  
She would make it. She _would._  
She had to.

And, on the edge of complete exhaustion, he half-dreamed of what he wanted, and it was no longer anything he truly remembered as his own.  
Even if everything returned to 'normal' – even if there were a world were cars drove across paved streets, where there was coffee and chocolate and smiling faces and angry arguments...

A world where you could argue with your mother and worry about bills to pay, write a letter to your family and crash a bike into the branches of a cedar tree, where your family gathered together to stand under the boughs at Christmastime...

Was it a world he would feel welcome in..?  
Was it a world – he wanted to return to...

The electric hiss of the generator was the first thing that brought him out of his reverie; the second was that the cavern wall he'd been leaning against was receding, trailing dirt and stone and clouds of spores behind him.  
  
Gerald jumped to his feet with a skill he was finding increasingly normal, hands grappling for the rifle – though his quickness there was still marred by his unwillingness.  
It turned out to be unnecessary, however; it was simply that, as he'd turned and struggled in a state of uneasy unrest, he must have hit some lever or switch against the wall, splitting it open.

Peering through the opening cautiously, he could make out another long tunnel – unlit and untrod.  
And he wasn't sure of what to do – because even if this was safe now, it was another danger, one that could explode into combat at any time. And he would have to rest eventually, and if Hyphen came under attack while she was recovering...

Making up his mind, he ran down the hallway, rifle held in front of him like a club or a torch.  
He wasn't sure if that was wise or a good approach, but it didn't matter. He wasn't even sure he'd be much use if there was something down the tunnel.

But it was empty, save a familiar sight at the end.

Gerald fell to his knees and hollered hoarsely, unable to be certain if what he felt was defeat or joy at the sight of the Kingsteen/Toivo device, engulfed in a nimbus of flickering electrical light.

It must return to that antechamber – it had to...

First, he set about gathering a selection of the medical supplies, emergency rations and tools.  
He wavered between pushing them forward into the device and wrapping them around himself, before finally settling on the latter.

And he left a great deal behind, as well as a note, written on the back of the note he and Hyphen had discovered so long before.

_To those who've found this place, sorry I'm not the original writer here. I can't protect you. If this is your stockpile I – we took some of your things, I'm sorry. But if we meet I'll do everything I can to help you. There's a device up ahead; it can take you to relative safety. Check the east well. Best of luck – don't lose hope._

Shutting his eyes, he placed it against an ancient supply canister full of empty syringes, gauze, and plaster castings.  
To his surprise, the note stuck as easily as if it had _meant_ to be found there, as if it had always _meant_ to be present.

… Nodding to the darkness and the waving tendrils of the slime molds, Gerald moved over to Hyphen – still trapped in whatever nightmarish battle she was.  
Leaning down close, he held her as tightly as he dared.

“We're going to move now, Hyphen. Hang in there. Just awhile longer, please..!”  
  
Despite his nervousness, he didn't run, but walked slowly forward.  
Behind him, the slime molds blinked and flickered; perhaps their light was dependent on the closeness of some other organism, or perhaps they simply sensed movement –  
  
Or, maybe it was their way of saying farewell.

The device was whispering its usual quiet thrum as he drew near to it.  
  
“We haven't eaten this time, right. That's kind of nice, isn't it, Hyphen?”  
  
She didn't answer, but he imagined she'd be glad.  
What had she looked like when she laughed with those jagged teeth of hers, the way she'd actually laughed – he'd even accept that weird, nervous, fake laughter where she was, trying to be –

Trying to seem more human...

His arms trembled.  
  
“Oh – oh, God...”  
  
And he repeated those words, again and again, unwilling to move forward.  
  
Was it possible – that she...

The sound of heavy footsteps against the cavern floor interrupted him.

Swallowing and burying his thoughts away, he took the last few steps into the device, Hyphen in his arms, and was engulfed by the sweet void.

… Behind him, the newcomer paused, just missing the passage as it shut silently behind them, even as sharp eyes did not miss the new note left so carefully in a stockpile that was missing a good quarter of the supplies that had come at such a high price.

Tired expression taut with anger, the stranger read the note – eyes widening in the sudden and overwhelming blue light.  
It was impossible not to recognize your own handwriting, after all.

… In the silent chamber in that dismal realm, the sound of paper being flipped struck as loud as thunder, and might have echoed when it was dropped to the floor in disbelief – but there was only silence after, and slowly the tendrils watching in quiet amusement withdrew their light, and then their presence – the chamber empty, once more...

 


	18. Crimson Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earth is lost.  
> ~

[When she awoke, it wasn't to home.](https://youtu.be/lUeiBtaluLw)  
  
The air here was cool and terrible, filtered through a system of fans venting out into unknowable space.   
But it was an awfulness she knew, and even as terrible as she felt, it gave her hope – even as she began to panic, looking around in wild abandon for a sign, any sign that she'd been successful.

But he was gone – Gerald was gone. Probably killed by the stranger in black, just like...  
Had she, was she...  
  
Hyphen placed a hand against her chest, and the carapace there was good, and unmottled, and whole.   
But her fingers went farther, and the chitin drifted away until there was nothing left, and a mixture of her own ichor and her punctured flesh greeted her.

Grinding her teeth against each other, she pressed a finger into the wound; it felt no pain.  
That – _wasn't good..._  
But there were bits of carapace that were growing back, so, if she could keep herself together, she could recover.

Reassuring herself even while wondering if it were true, she sighed, trying to remember how she'd gotten back here.   
Had she crawled here, or –

It was then that she noticed him.  
  
Gerald had been watching her, quietly.  
His hair had grown back somewhat, still short against his head, and rich, and coppery.

And he hadn't removed his beard, though he had trimmed it a bit.   
Perhaps that was a human vanity.   
A human thing.

… It didn't do a very good job of hiding his smile.

“Hey. Uh, hey – you. Welcome back.”  
  
She pulled herself up, ignoring the pain she _did_ feel all throughout the bits of her body that were functional, and tried to throw herself at him -  
  
Unfortunately, there had been a miscalculation regarding just how strong she was, and Hyphen fell to the floor, wincing slightly.  
She'd landed on her fractured chitin however, so that was fine.  
If not a little embarrassed...  
  
“Ah, geeze, Hyphen, don't – don't hurt yourself! I'm sorry, I'm a little... I haven't been sleeping much, aha, haha...”  
  
“I missed you. I thought you were dead.”  
  
She spoke bluntly, pulling herself up through pure force of will.

“Yeah, well, the feeling was mutual. That last journey was kind of a bust, wasn't it?"  
  
His smile faded, and for a minute, Gerald clearly wanted to say many things - that he did not.  
And he spoke, his voice cracked.  
  
"I – I couldn't find the rune. I'm sorry.”  
  
She chittered angrily, and he recoiled, looking abashed.  
That wasn't what she had meant, however..!  
  
“You! _You, you, you!_ That's not important to me! When you disappeared, I was certain. Certain you'd died and...”  
  
And she shook and went silent and closed all of her eyes, and hoped he would too.   
But humans blinked a lot; they didn't seem to hide when they wanted to stare at others, it was incredibly rude, and...  
  
“I – Hyphen...”

She could hear him taking the deep breaths he always did before launching into some kind of speech, usually the pep-talks he gave himself when they were about to risk something, _especially_ when he thought she couldn't hear him.

And she could feel the deep of her churning, and knew what he might say, and wished very much he wouldn't say it, while wishing simultaneously, that he might –   
  
“... We're, I – this is, ugh...”  
  
“If it is about before, I was just concerned. I am very glad you saved me. I apologize for my anger, it was out of concern.”  
  
She hastily chittered, stumbling over each word until they blended into one another, but it was amateurish, and she'd never been good at dealing with things like this, and...  
  
“I only just realized all the little things you do, er... No, that's not it. Uh... Geeze, Copeman... Geeze...”  
  
And they were both silent.  
This time, the blue room had been closed off; the ventilation chamber in the center of the area was uncomfortable, and she wanted to suggest they move to the black-lit area that looked to be full of heavy machinery, just to distract him, not to go anywhere, but...

“Maybe we won't ever get out of here.”  
  
She went silent.   
  
Oh, no – she'd been wrong, wrong about everything...   
Oh, no – _no..._  
  
“Do not think that way. I know we shall! I shall return you home, I promise, if I can...”  
  
He shook his head.  
Calloused fingers came to rest against strands of coppery brown hair, and rested there, and he looked away; and his blue eyes refused to meet the blacks of hers.

“Maybe we won't, Hyphen. But if I ever – came close to losing you, again... Without talking to you about this, and I mean – maybe it's incredibly stupid of me. It is. It's probably, Stockholm, or something...”  
  
She had no idea what that meant, but filmed her eyes over. She could feel her ichor growing cold.   
At this rate, she'd go turgid and never recover, maybe that was for the best –

“I think I love you.”  
  
His eyes shut, and he inhaled, and nodded his head.

“I love you.”

And then he was silent, got up and began pacing around the small room and putting great effort into looking busy.   
It was ridiculous, the way he moved back and forth, those jumping jacks, what was the point of it all...  
  
“... I am not, very good at this, am I...”  
  
“Uh! Hyphen, it's all right if you don't feel the same way, I don't even know if there's a similar feeling for you, or if your people just clone each other in vats, aha, or, uh...”  
  
She forced herself to rise in; finding that, actually, she could walk, a little...   
Though she found herself tempted to fall to all fours, using one leg and her arms.   
Like a beast would.   
  
Would he - did he think of her, like a beast...  
  
Half-stumbling over and leaning against his shoulder, she rested her head against his.  
… And she enjoyed the feeling of being taller then him, even now.

“No. I have liked you for a very long time, but I like people easily. I like a great many of my people. But I – feel more then that with you. I thought you were gone. There was no hope I had, besides finding you.”  
  


Gerald stared up at her, and his expression made her nervous.   
His eyes kept flitting away from hers, and he opened his mouth as if to speak but said nothing at all, and so she kept talking, even as she realized the distance between them was so sparse, and...

“I – “  
  
She had meant to tell him about the deep vents in Deimos that she considered her place of residence, where she studied the unchanging beauty of the planet, and how it might be put to best use; had meant to avoid telling him how excited she was that one day, maybe, she'd see his planet, his Earth, with its strange trees everywhere, and how she might have named some here, after him, after her...

But he moved quickly.

His lips were smooth and soft against hers, and he pulled back quickly, nervously, hand against the back of his neck.

“Sorry, again. I don't know if – “  
  
“That wasn't a kiss.”  
  
Hyphen tried not to laugh, failed, and enjoyed seeing him laugh, too. His cheeks had gone from white to red – whatever that meant.  
… She was fairly certain she knew.

Leaning in close, she kissed him deeply; a little sad that he closed those incredible blue eyes of his when she wanted to watch them, watching her.  
But his lips tasted of distant lands and skies that she had never seen.   
She drew back his tongue with hers, guiding it past the rows of her teeth, content to pull back after a half-minute had passed.

He'd placed his hand against her neck, cradling her as they kissed. It was a strange feeling, but she liked it.   
_And maybe_ , she permitted herself to think, _he likes the way I feel, as well._  
  
“I don't – uh, know, if...”  
  
“Don't worry. I promise I won't do anything. That you regret.”  
  
She chittered in quiet laughter, unsure if she was telling the truth or not.   
And he could see that she was uncertain, and their shared excitement made her feel incredibly lightheaded.  
  
“Hyphen – I, I thought we'd rest here for a bit, and get a bearing on things, let you heal up, and check out the next place the device takes us.”  
  
“Oh...?”  
  
And she lilted her murmuring low and sad, though she did an awful job of hiding her glee at the implications.  
  
“Well, I figured that way, we – we both have to live. And you need to heal up, because, you know, we're not traveling like that, or, uh...”  
  
“Yes. I like that plan. I like the plan of living, so that we can spend more time together.”  
  
She cooed, and drew close to him; though she nearly toppled over from the strain on her left leg.   
Ah, right, she really couldn't power through this entirely on her own...   
  
It was a good plan from a practical standpoint too, though she didn't want to be practical all the time, anymore...

His gentle smile, shaking with laughter from under his coppery beard, the warmth of his fingers against her back, cooler then her and yet so oddly soft...  
That was all the response she needed.

“Good, all right. Great. That's the plan, then. I promise you I won't die. Just do me a favor, and don't go off on your own unless, well, I know there are times when it's important but...”  
  
“Will you try. To avoid deadly waterways?”  
  
“Oof, right in the spirit...”  
  
“That's not a promise!”  
  
“Okay, fine, I promise. I never liked swimming anyway – “  
  
“Will you go magmadiving with me?”  
  
She fixated him with a serious stare, mouth pursed so that he knew this wasn't a request. (And then she repeated it again, just so that he _really_ knew.)  
  
“Hyphen. I can't. I'd burn, or possibly suffocate first, I can't recall what kills you first with magma – “  
  
“ _Nono._ If we found a way, would you? Because! I want you to!”

“Well, yes, if it doesn't involve death, I'll do pretty much anything with you.”  
  
“Pretty much... Anything...”

And the stillness was deafening, but the best sort of deafening.   
She knew that her smile must look incredibly wide, and wondered if that was normal.   
He was grinning quite broadly, so she choose to think that yes, it was, and so...  
  
“Think on that, Hyphen. But – try to rest a little. I think a few nights, and we'll make an attempt on, uh, door number three. But you have to remember – what we talked about, here. You can't die, okay. You have to promise me.”  
  
“I already... Have. But I'll do it again, I promise.”  
  
“Then – I promise, too. So, uhmn, good night.”  
  
… He closed his eyes, and then sort of scooted closer and closer to where she'd taken a spot against the cold, somewhat comfortable metal floor.   
It was absolutely ridiculous, and she kept laughing even as she meant to stop – but that was fine.

Eventually, he grew close enough to rest his head against her shoulder, and did so – and the warmth of him was remarkably pleasant at dispelling the cold, sterile machines of this place.

For awhile, she let her mind wander to visions of a pleasant future...

Before storing them away deep inside herself, smiling quietly, and drifting into a peaceful, pleasant sleep.

 


	19. E3M1 - Characters of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then, pray tell. What should I do? Turn myself over to resignation, allow myself the luxury of death?  
> Because there is no hope..?  
> It is better to be vengeful then to be dead inside.  
> You can rot, as you please. I shall fight.  
> Heaven shall decide the rest.  
> ~

Around a chamber, otherwise empty save for barricades and inactive replicas of a device on distant Earth, there was a beautiful chorus –  
[The chorus of machinery.](http://industry-machine.ambient-mixer.com/underground-steam-power)

While it only housed two occupants, the metal flooring had seen many traverse it, to the sound of feet against tin;  
And while neither he, nor she were awake, it would occasionally shudder as if from some distant pressure, deep below.

The rest of the crossway was hardly inactive, either. The crackle of power without any visible transformers hummed merrily and constantly, punctuated by the gentle autofeed of inaccessible terminals monitoring unknowable variables.

Gerald had gotten so used to it then when the chorus was interrupted, he woke with a start.  
Some of the roofing had collapsed to the ground with a clattering crash, and distant lights bathed the room in a dark purple glow.  
  
He ran his fingers through his hair, and narrowed his eyes up at the hole in the ceiling, trying to see through the tangles of falling wires.  
But if there were some creature above them, watching – they had long since hidden amongst the machines, and, sighing, he gave up searching.

… It wasn't as if he wanted to find anything, anyway.  
The peacefulness he felt here with Hyphen was something he didn't want to interrupt any more then he had to.  
But – there was no telling if this place was meant to last forever, or even more then a few weeks.  
Knowing Elsewhere, it was possible that it destroyed and reconstructed itself from the ruins every once in awhile; just because it could.

Glancing at Hyphen, his smile waned even as he felt a bit better.  
She'd definitely healed enough to walk, though she'd insisted he take the rune back.  
It had – after all – apparently had little-to-no effect on her.  
  
But even without its help, she was healing.  
They could do this.

“Hey, uhmn... I think it's time.”  
  
All eight of her eyes opened in perfect harmony.  
She smiled, just barely, and yawned an alien yawn – cacophonous and caught by her teeth.  
  
“It is all right. I've had trouble, sleeping. This place is too large. Isn't it...”  
  
“A bit confining to me, actually. To each their own, though – do you need help getting up, or..?”  
  
“Thank you, Gerald. I think I can stand well, now... Aha!”  
  
Her happiness was infectious, and he stuck his hands in pockets that had become all too ratty from the grime and wear of the jaunt between worlds.  
But Hyphen had risen on her own, a bit wobbly, but able to sort of shake from side to side in celebration!  
  
That's what he assumed it was, at least.  
  
“I seem to be all in order. I am afraid I may slow you down though. You may have to carry me. Again.”  
  
“Hrmn... If I have to, I will.”  
  
Gerald ignored the way her teasing chittering had stopped abruptly, her eyes staring up at the hole in the ceiling as if it were intently interesting. Given Hyphen, it might be, but it was still a pretty transparent effort to avoid blushing, on her part...  
  
Blushing was weird – her blushing was weird.  
  
That might not be what it was exactly, but her chitin did shift; the dark browns and oranges of it lighting up or darkening dependent on her mood.  
He'd noticed it awhile back, but only just started realizing the significance of it...

Smiling to himself, Gerald checked the rifle he'd found.  
  
Someone – someone important, though he couldn't remember much about her, had always stressed the importance of keeping your gear clean and in good care.  
Unfortunately – he didn't really know how to clean a rifle, so the best he could do was polish the wooden stock and hope it served them better then the other weapons they'd found.

“All right, Hyphen. Let's do this. I'll take point, and we can eat when we're through. Assuming there isn't a cavalcade of, uh, death, waiting for us on the other side...”  
  
“There won't be. I have a good feeling about this device.”  
  
Her voice sounded oddly distant as she half-loped towards him, putting too much weight on her good leg.  
She was still moving on her own, however; that'd have to do for now. She kept looking at the device as they approached it through the dim light, chittering to herself.

“It seems somehow. Familiar. To me.”  
  
“Oh, really..? Good familiar, like a distant friend?”  
  
“Almost, but not quite. We will still be capable, in case of it being a clever trap.”  
  
Hyphen cooed in soft laughter, and he laughed as well – then steeled himself and entered into the Kingsteen/Toivo device.

Perhaps he had been wrong, and perhaps you did eventually grow accustomed to it.  
Regardless, his boot crashed into the metal grating at the other side as casually as if it'd been right in front of him a second ago.

“ _F **r** e **E** Z **e**_!”

The shout came from directly around the bend in front of him, but was spoken as if the speaker was having a hard time breathing, or had never pronounced English before in their lives; it reminded him a little of how Hyphen had spoken at first, except...  
  
Wait, English?  
  
“Hey, wait! We're friendlies! Non-hostiles! Uh, Quarter Ultra Alpha – “  
  
Before he could finish, the heavily armored corpse pulled itself from the the machine-lined hallway in front of him.  
It leaked goo from exposed crevices in its armor, and its eyes were an inhuman and brilliant red, pried open by a mechanized wheel that occasionally lovingly injected syringes into the quivering mess of humanoid flesh below.  
  
The machines keeping the armored grunt alive whirred for a moment, automated response predetermined by whomever had made this abomination in the first place.  
  
“ _S **t** O **p**!_ ”

Whether the ruined husk of a marine was talking to him, or the machines keeping it 'alive' didn't matter.  
Hefting a large metal projector, the enforcer opened fire.  
  
Gerald had seen one before, when he had been with Victor; but not in action.  
  
The discharge was a cascade of superheated fire, though the weapon seemed ineffective at keeping it charged for more then a second...  
And whether it was acclimation or a developing sense of skill, Gerald was amazed at how easily he dodged.

It seemed like slow motion, the mechanized soldier pausing to re-shoulder his large weapon for only a moment – all the time that Gerald needed.  
He swept behind the soldier, not sure what he was doing even as his fingers found a tiny mesh in the back of the soldier's life-support suit.  
  
Unhesitating, his fingers pulled it free as the grunt slowly, haphazardly dropped his rifle and tried to swat Gerald's hands away...

And then went entirely limp, collapsing to the floor as fluid drained from the hazmat suit and onto the ground below.

… He wasn't happy; it had been another kill, after all.  
But like before, perhaps this one was a small mercy – for whatever had happened to the man inside that suit...  
Gerald shivered at the thought, then turned to face the device, calling towards Hyphen.  
  
“There are new soldiers here. They're weak from the back, so we can just go around them – “  
  
She hadn't arrived yet, and he felt a little sheepish.  
His feet stepped in green sludge, a concoction of poison and decaying plant matter that'd previously kept the human corpse in a state of living death.  
It splattered against his boot, and he winced.

“Quite the skill you've got there. I'm amazed to see you back on your feet so quickly. Arms up.”  
  
He complied instantly; perhaps dealing with Masterson had given him a second sight when it came to calling bluffs, or perhaps he'd become more cautious – or perhaps the rune pressed against his chest was whispering, and he could only hear it subconsciously...  
  
The speaker didn't hesitate long afterwards, circling around him as briskly as any human might.

For that's what she was – another human.

She wore armor, blackened to avoid reflecting light, and had also blackened her skin beneath the eyes, which were sallow and sunken to the point of looking withdrawn into her flesh.  
He wondered if his looked the same, but she did not bother to pat him down or confiscate his rifle.  
Apparently finished, she gave him a curt nod.  
  
“I cannot believe there is another human here. What a mystery, this place is... What is your name, and what regiment are you with?”  
  
“Gerald Copeman. There is no regiment, no reserve. I'm the last.”  
  
“Oh – so they told _you_ that lie as well, did they..?”  
  
Her sour expression compressed the corners of her lips into a snarl so fierce he thought she might lunge at him; but her rage was not directed his way, but somewhere she could not reach.  
The heavy metal gun she carried with her seemed as light as cotton as she slung it against her right shoulder, and he realized with some surprise that it looked not unlike the design he'd seen on the soldier before.  
  
“... Manon. You may call me that. So far as I know, I am the first person they sent here, as a test for the feasibility of the Kingsteen/Toivo device.”  
  
Gerald couldn't place her accent, though he remembered spending some time in that place, across the sea...  
Whatever it had been called.  
That was her accent, then. Across-the-sea-ish.

… Wait.

“Are you – uh, I'm sorry. Are you serious?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
She nodded grimly, spitting against the metal-lined floor.  
  
“And you have my rifle. I do not mind, this is the only weapon I need. There are fungus here you may grind to refuel energy cells, mmn. I do not know what you'd call them. You likely need it more than I.”

“Oh – sorry. We were just – my companion was wounded, and I...”  
  
She held her free hand up, scoffing.  
  
“Do not feel the need to justify it. My duty is to purge this place of evil. But if I can protect those lost here, that is no burden to me. I am amused that my note returned to me, however...”  
  
“Weird place, Elsewhere...”  
  
Gerald could only reply in a weak murmur.  
She was a short woman, and looked as if she had gained an incredibly amount of muscle from her tenure here; however long she had been here, whether it had been weeks or years in the unknowable time in Elsewhere, the toll it had taken was obvious.

From under the dim points of her brown eyes, her skin had been blanched from lightly tan to a color-deprived mess that looked more then a little jaundiced.  
And though Manon seemed to be carrying herself with a confidence that did not seem false at all, mentally...  
  
“Anyway. I owe you two, you see; I'd failed to find the exit from that last little hell. Killing the beasts is easy enough, but escaping their traps...”  
  
She looked as if she might spit again, chuckling quietly.

“To believe that I had been waiting in front of the exit I sought for days... Copeman. Behind you.”  
  
Instantly she sank out of the semi-relieved stance, and it was all Gerald could do to move to the side as she hefted the huge projector in front of her.  
Blue light crackled merrily from between several prongs, anticipating the death it was yet to inflict...  
As he cast his eyes over his shoulder, and saw Hyphen stepping uneasily on to the grating below.  
  
“Stop!”  
  
Throwing himself in between them, he was glad that whatever she had been through, Manon was clearly a career soldier.  
She lowered the rifle to the ground with a clunk of metal, looking as if she'd swallowed a large gnat.

Her gaze did not leave Hyphen, who was chittering in terror, for a moment.

“... I did not understand that your companion was _one_ of _them._ I seem to have misjudged you.”  
  
“Please, please, _please._ She's with me. She's good, I promise – please...”  
  
His pleas appeared to fall on deaf ears – at first.

But then a change came over Manon, very slowly.  
Her eyes drifted to the floor, then shut.  
She inhaled deeply, sighed, and nodded her head to nobody in particular.  
  
“... Well, I cannot promise anything. My impulses are finely honed, here. I've seen the likes of it – excuse me, of her, before. They have all been hostile. I will try not to kill either of you, but if I see the likes of you again, I may act without thinking.”  
  
And her tone was even and controlled, stressing every word.  
  
“I am _not_ your enemy and I _do not_ wish to do so, but I will not die, either. Is this quite acceptable..?”  
  
The tension eased out of Gerald's shoulders and he burbled a nervous, but happy, response.  
  
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Manon – but I mean, we can travel together, to make things easier – “  
  
“No. We _cannot._ Just because I do not wish harm to either of you does not mean I will trust her. And though I am sorry for any damage I may have caused... I work alone in the first place. I have already cleansed this place. It should remain safe for you.”  
  
Gerald's eyes widened as he realized why Hyphen had been so nervous, and just what had transpired between the two of them.  
But Manon whirled on her feet, already walking down the halls and corridors of the oddly Earth-like installation.

Fighting anger and understanding, he finally called out:  
  
“Manon! There's a man, named Masterson. Another human, like us. He shot me before, but I don't know his full mental. He might have snapped back. He could be dangerous.”  
  
She looked back over her shoulder, the dark rim of her helmet obscuring all but a few strands of brown hair.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
And then she was gone, and Gerald ran over to Hyphen.  
She said nothing at first, the only sound coming from her the grating of her teeth against each other in a nervous, horrified equivalent to tears.  
  
“Hyphen... Are you okay? Should I have – ”  
  
“No _._ I think you handled that well. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine.”  
  
Hyphen assured him three times more then was necessary – but she forced herself to get up, and forced herself to smile, and despite the fact that both were forced he knew as she leaned against him that she'd be able to keep going.

Placing his fingers against her shoulder, Gerald grasped the hard chitin tightly, wondering if it conveyed the same support that it might on another human, or if it just seemed an odd gesture.

… Hyphen laughed, very quietly, very much in her own manner.  
  
“I promise it. This place makes us all jumpy. And I. I look...”  
  
“Don't, don't you dare. I mean, don't I look damn weird to you?”  
  
He swore, regretting it even though it didn't matter at all to Hyphen, if she even understood the weight behind it.  
And her smile curled down into a sadder reflection as she whispered in reply –  
  
“No. Not at all.”  
  
He held on to her for a moment more then was strictly necessary, wondering what you said in response to that, and finally deciding that it didn't merit any kind of response besides closeness.

And he was willing to stay close to her for as long as she liked, longer –  
  
Around them, the constant pumping of machinery continued unabated, and Gerald began to realize his own heart was beating too quickly, as well.  
The spikes over Hyphen's knuckles extended slowly, and she ground them against one another – it was a cute gesture, and quite nervous.  
  
“I don't like it here. The familiar feeling. It is near, but not quite. Vexing...”  
  
“The sky is blue here...”  
  
Whispered Gerald, looking out an open window.  
  
Above them the sky – or perhaps an illusion of it, or a gigantic monitor stretched to look natural, or perhaps some trick of his hopeful mind – _seemed_ a pale and lazy blue, like the passing of a summer's day.  
  
Hyphen capered over to him, and stared at it – transfixed.

“Is it really like that... Where you're from...”  
  
“Yeah. All the time, except when it's cloudy, rainy, foggy... I bet you'd hate fog. Snow too, probably. We'll have to get you, uh, a winter coat or something. My... My'll... Knit you a sweater, or...”  
  
“Gerald?”  
  
“Sorry, I'm trying to recall something, no dice. Look at all that sludge below, though. Do you think that's what they fill up the soldiers with, here?”  
  
Hyphen hadn't seen the active combat unit he'd dispatched earlier, but seemed to have no trouble putting two and two together; they had encountered such 'zombies' before, after all, and he knew that not all had been 'freed' by the Manumitter...

“It is a possibility. But it looks like sludge. Not some superstitious... Some magical poultice.”  
  
Nervous laughter whispered from between her lipless mouth, and he watched the rows of her teeth dance, white and sharp.

“Well, let's avoid it anyway. We'll get a better view of the sky, later. Even if I have to knit you a million sweaters myself, to protect you from our fearful climate.”  
  
“I accept that. As long as you tell me what a sweater is, precisely. After we cake dance.”  
  
“Cakewalk.”  
  
“I will accept both.”  
  
As they went further into the complex, the sounds of grinding machinery, heavy and industrial and omnipresent, became impossible to ignore.  
This was not some forward outpost, and perhaps never had been.  
It felt like some sort of bizarre parody of one, much like many of the other places Elsewhere had created or influenced –

A human canning industry where people and slurry and machinery were fused into an amorphous blend designed to find more people to feed to more machines, so that the process might repeat, forever...

Gerald shuddered.

Numerous corpses indicated that Manon had been true to her word, earlier; the charred envirosuits that the former humans had been vacuum-sealed into left a steady trail of where she'd went, and given her frosty – if understandable – disposition, Gerald decided it was best if they avoided crossing paths too often.

When they reached a large waste cistern that seemed to be pumping the plant matter from some deep well in the earth itself, surrounded by the mangled bodies of those who had worked it, he made a judgment call, and pressed the oddly modern and unimpressive call button of a nearby elevator.

“This'll only take a minute, but I don't really like the odds of us getting through miles of that gunk. Even if we figure out a clever way to insulate you from it...”  
  
“Ah. Here is an idea – what if it burns?”  
  
“That can't be your solution to everything, Hyphen...”  
  
“It is very rarely my solution. But you cannot deny the appeal of burning this place to the ground.”  
  
“... No, I can't.”  
  
The elevator rose to meet them, doors sliding open with a precise and welcome hiss.  
Feeling a little silly, Gerald fell forward in a half-bow. Hyphen didn't seem entirely certain of what it meant, but tittered in gentle laughter, regardless – perhaps humoring him.

Inside, the elevator was cramped, but felt like part of the facility – as opposed to the...  
Thing that had carried himself and Masterson on a bizarre voyage not so long before.  
  
Gerald hummed, unable to hide his smile, as he scooted a little closer to Hyphen.  
Her eyes occasionally glanced to her side, down at him, and she was hiding a smile of her own a bit better – but...  
  
“There is no need for that.”  
  
“No, there really isn't. But you know, it's something we humans do with the – uh, with people...”  
  
“It is not unknown to me, Gerald.”  
  
And she rested her head on top of his, and he burst into laughter as the doors opened in front of them.  
It would've been an awful time for something awful to happen, and he regretted his lax happiness almost immediately; they weren't home yet, they weren't safe yet, and he wasn't going to lose her because he –

But there was no enemy presence there, no troop of former humans submerged in green liquid and electricity, only a darkened storage area littered with huge boxes that were, for once, pristine and unopened.  
  
They'd accrued a good supply of rations from Manon, but there were all manner of foods, salted and preserved, in the containers.  
Munitions, too, though for weapons he'd never even seen, let alone handled. Most interestingly, they contained several molds for oddly shaped keys; though no material to cast them with, and knowing Elsewhere...  
  
“Is all your people carry with you food and weaponry?”  
  
“You can't really talk, Hyphen. You don't have anything with you. I mean, you're, uh, _uh_...”  
  
Gerald's open palm slammed into his face as the demon circled around him, either utterly confused or affecting it well enough to shield his embarrassment.  
  
“That's right, Gerald. I was just curious.”  
  
“... Thanks, Hyphen.”  
  
He'd almost smiled, when she leaned in closed – eyes glinting in that dark like they had no right to, a maze of darkness that seemed to engulf him.  
She whispered something, and he could not hear _what_ it was, but his entire body tensed up, and his breathing caught – and she laughed at him, very quietly...

“Right, well, uh. I guess we're not going to find anything too useful here, so, uh – “  
  
“We can go up the wall! That ladder, there. The one labeled 'Emergency.' I do not like using such an obvious exit...”  
  
“... But it's for the best we go our own way, right. I'll take point, and I guess we'll leave this here... It feels like a waste not to carry extra supplies, though. And I should probably – start thinking about stocking up on ammunition – “  
  
“I trust you, Gerald. You are doing what you do. And I will... Protect you. If I can.”  
  
Gerald was silent as his fingers sunk around the bunker-seal against the ladder. Bits of his gloves had survived, though the fingers had quite worn off; and the metal was cool where it met his flesh. The surface of it was quite unyielding, too, and despite how much stronger he felt then when he'd arrived in Elsewhere, his muscles groaned in protest.

Finally, the ladder's seal came off with a hiss and a roar of musty air, awash with dust.  
  
“Looks dark as night. Can we – Hyphen, do you mind going first?”  
  
“No. Not at all. Do you want me to light the way?”  
  
“... Keep it dark. It's probably fine if you just tell me what you see, and you can make some fire if things get unpleasant. Do you have – uh, emergency shelters on Deimos..?”  
  
“Generally, no. Environmental disasters are common, and mostly unmanageable. It is best to be in either an open stretch of land that will give you a large freedom of movement, or accept them as a natural risk, and settle for closedness. Small confines. Something comfortable.”  
  
“But only generally, huh...”  
  
And the dark was overwhelming. He half-expected the lid to reseal over them with a mechanical groan and villainous laughter, but eventually the light faded from distance, rather than closure.  
… He wasn't sure how far down they'd climbed, only that he'd stopped counting at fifty rungs, and they'd gone many more below that...  
  
“Mmn. Well. There are places we do not understand, fully. Perhaps from another time. There are – is a calmness to them. And they are shelters, of a sort. I do not care for them. You though – I think you would like them.”  
  
“You'll have to show me, someday.”  
  
“Will I need to knit you a sweater?”  
  
“Somehow, I don't think that'll be of much help..”  
  
A bit of rock fell from his boot, striking the metal shaft down and ricocheting from wall to wall before finally striking the bottom of the chamber...  
The bottom?  
  
“Hyphen, can you seen an end to this place below us?”  
  
The shadows stuck to her shoulderblades as they tensed, and he watched the muscles against them rise and fall; the smooth sienna outlines of her carapace only just visible in the inky darkness.  
  
“... Yes, but... I am not certain that I like, what is ahead...”  
  
Below them, an obsidian mesh rose up to block their further descent – pierced by a huge circular door that criss-crossed itself and dissolved downwards as they approached...

 


	20. E3M2 - Cold Catacombs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have succeeded in destroying yourself, utterly.  
> With it, comes the freedom to rebuild yourself as you choose.  
> But one day, you meet an old friend, who smiles and claims to recognize you –   
> Only, the person they recognize no longer exists.  
> Who is mistaken, your friend, or yourself..?  
> ~

Earthy, stale air bombarded his nostrils as Gerald's eyes accustomed to the murky gloom.   
The torrents of dust that hung in the air felt like they'd been hanging there, ever-present, until the fateful day that someone had decided to unleash them upon the world –   
That someone being the two of them.

[“It almost feels like home.”](https://youtu.be/EkRpT_xUmrY)  
  
Hyphen murmured glumly, glancing nervously at the cramped black walls that surrounded them.  
  
“But there is nothing like home about here. I am – uncertain.”  
  
“I'm not _entirely_ certain how those two things can correlate, Hyphen...”  
  
“And neither am I. But – they do. There is a pull here. Something in the air, and it is whispering, and I want to find it...”  
  
Instinctively, his fingers drifted to his chest, where the rune had nestled between fragments of armor and cloth, and comfortably reassured him.   
  
What she was looking for was here.  
What they were both looking for, they would find – here.  
  
His eyes had accustomed to the darkness, making out the elaborate construction separating each and every wall.   
White and grey patterns told elaborate tales on each and every concurrent vault – if that is what they were – indicating what he assumed were the lives and times of those so entombed.

At his side, the demon ran her fingers against the stone inquisitively.  
She looked almost as if she wanted to take a bite out of it...  
  
“Why would there be a vault... Beneath a base, for creating soldiers. What possible purpose could the labs above serve?”  
  
“Maybe there is no purpose; maybe the structures here grew organically or, uh, they didn't know that below them were all these crypts – “  
  
“There have been crypts. Many crypts in this place, in Elsewhere. I think – I have a belief.”  
  
“A belief?”  
  
He raised and eyebrow quizzically, and in the dark he was not certain she could see it – but he could see her, perfectly.  
  
Hyphen rose to her full height, neither chittering nor cavorting about.   
She placed her hands against the walls, as if expecting them to rise and expose something; perhaps an army of corpses, or great treasures.  
But when they did not, she seemed more satisfied, still.  
  
“... Yes. Perhaps, even. A theory. You see – Elsewhere is trying to do something to us. I have mentioned I feel – we are being led. But what if also, the purpose of it is to... Create something. Someone. Perhaps.”  
  
“And that has to do with these vaults, how?”  
  
“... Do you trust me?”  
  


And for the first time in a long time, it was as if a small part of Gerald's brain that had been dormant awoke.   
_  
Do I?_   
  
It whispered, and the whisper was too quiet to ignore.

For here in front of him, asking for his trust, was what was a demon, a demon by the definitions of his planet, by his definitions, standing in the dark and dust-laden ruins of an ancient crypt.   
And he had seen her set fire to their enemies, seen her look of impartial curiosity, tinged with glee as she rooted through corpses.

He had seen her save his life, and shudder in terror – and pain.  
He had seen her waste time on unimportant things, asking trivial questions he wished he could answer better.  
And he had heard her before, and that was enough.  
  
“Yeah. I trust you. What's the plan?”  
  
She wrapped her hand around his, fingers entwining with his tightly as she led him away from the sealed crypts.   
Ahead of them, a silvery-blue object disappeared, pulled away beneath them by a conveyor of unseen origins.

… And Hyphen ignored it utterly.   
  
In front of them, in front of them was – it was a chasm.  
A chasm in the horrible obsidian tomb they'd found themselves in, and it _radiated_ heat.   
  
Not just a gentle heat, not the heat of a summer's day or a fire or even a furnace; and he could feel his clothes sticking to him, and his sweat thickening, and –

Hyphen took his hand all the more tightly in hers, and plunged into the fires below.

For whatever reason, he did not scream.   
Perhaps, at some point, he had stopped feeling the fear of death entirely.  
Or perhaps – it had not been idle talk, and he trusted her entirely.

But whatever it was he didn't even close his eyes as the lava swam around him, engulfing him in slow-moving magma bubbles.

… Gerald held a hand to his face. The skin on his unexposed arm stung a bit, but...  
  
“I see. Well, let's go a little further.”  
  
Hyphen announced to herself – challenging and fierce.   
He hadn't the time to fully register what had just happened as she pulled him to the shore with surprising strength, leaning heavily on her good leg as she hefted him onto an obsidian island in the orange sea around them.  
  
There was no clear way back up from the slate-black shores; an elevated platform was above them, but for whatever reason it wasn't returning down.   
In fact – if he could see right, someone had even placed a cardboard sign against it.  
With writing, aimless characters that meant nothing but ambled aimlessly across the brown surface.

An imitation of language, not words.

“We were not supposed to come here – this was a secret to our guide, I think. Now it is known to us.”  
  
“But what does that – mean, Hyphen. And how did you know...”  
  
She silenced him with a finger to his lips, the smooth roughness of her touch contrasting with the gentleness of the gesture.  
  
“One last thing. Please stand clear. As you say, _uh,_ this might be somewhat dangerous...”  
  
He only had time to chuckle for a moment before she began forcing her shoulder against one of the walls with all the force she could muster. He didn't wait before chipping in himself, not caring for her reasons why – and their effort was soon rewarded, as with a mechanical click and the hiss of servos, the wall pulled away – revealing a white, sterile, well-lit pathway.

“... I do not like this at all.”  
  
“Yeah, me neither. But could you slow down for a minute, I'm not even sure – “  
  
“Gerald. I do not think you're – you are not the person you once were. I am not the person I once was. Do you not think the goal of this place is to change people, before the end? Before they can complete their tasks...”  
  
“What do you mean, Hyphen?..”  
  
The hair on his neck bristled as they cautiously stepped into the white passageway, hand in hand. The door hissed shut automatically and swiftly behind them, and refreshingly cool air pumped into the chamber shortly after.  
  
It made Hyphen look mildly uncomfortable, so he threw his arms around her neck like a scarf, stepping behind her to prop her up – and perhaps, embrace her.  
  
“What, what, _what_ was that for..?!”  
  
“You looked cold, and you did something clever, even if I'm a little terrified right now. So – “  
  
“If you reward for me hunches like that I may. Make them more often, so it would be wise to...”  
  
“Keep doing that, gotcha. I should probably be awfully terse regarding that lava, but, uh – ”  
  
 _He'd known.  
Somehow, in the depths of his mind, he'd known before they'd hit the ground that it would prove a mild irritant, not a burning, charring mess._

_And had it been the rune, or..._

Against his leg, Hyphen's shifted a little.   
It was weird, the feel of her bare, smooth chitin against him; clothed and armored as he was.   
Exhaling sharply, Gerald focused on the familiar white lights above; they reminded him of a place...   
  
A place that, he'd started something –   
  
Had it been his journey to Elsewhere? In a place not too unlike this..?  
  
“But I think... I think I'm changing too. I'm also – scared.”  
  
The lilting whisper of her voice made him stop.  
  
“Listen – Hyphen. We're both scared. I don't think, ah, geeze... There isn't a good way to not be scared. I mean – the whole of this place feels like a, like a lab test. Designed to – to mess with us and make us feel nervous, so, what I'm trying to say is...”  
  
Around them, the white walls shot open, and beyond them was a canopy of stars, awful and white.   
They were framed against an endless expanse of lightlessness without any color at all, so terrible as to make him feel as if it might devour even his gaze, if it stayed upon them too long...  
  
Her fingers left his side, where they'd came to rest gently – naturally.   
And he wondered if they hadn't met in Elsewhere, if they might not still have come to feel so close like this –   
But she bounded over to the surface in the air where the stars hung with nothing to carry their weight, staring with eight eyes agape.

“Gerald, Gerald! Do you think this is real?”  
  
“... Yeah. I've seen something like this before.”  
  
And he could remember how beautiful he'd found it at the time, but he remembered where the portal before had led, and no matter how beautiful the sight here was, his memory struggled in the tiniest of victories as he remembered a phrase from Earth –   
  
The house always wins.  
  
“Ah. I see – I shouldn't touch it, should I...”  
  
“It'll lead us forward, but – you know. If we do, we should do it together, like, at once. Otherwise, there'll probably be a delay, or there might be; I figure it'll propel us out separately if it wants, but...”  
  
“Why give it the chance.”  
  
Hyphen nodded curtly, mouth drawn shut.

“Very well. I see nothing wrong with that plan. And it allows me to do this, so...”  
  
She clung to him tightly, and he was once again aware that she was much, much lighter then she looked; perhaps her bones, or cartilage, or – perhaps she was just built somewhat like a bird, all frail-interior and tough...   
Feathers...

With a sigh that couldn't quite sustain himself against her warmth, Gerald took a running leap into the starry plateau.

The peace that engulfed him made him believe, for an instant an eternity, that no matter what might happen, he had made the right choice –   
[And that sensation remained with him, even as he was spat out unceremoniously into the freezing snow.](http://environment-other.ambient-mixer.com/walking-in-snowstorm)

Shivering, Gerald tried to rise to his feet – but it was quite impossible with a much heavier-seeming Hyphen flailing her long limbs aimlessly into the air, on top of him.

“Help! Help, help!”  
  
“I'm here to help you, but I might just sit like this for awhile – “  
  
“No, I'm cold..!”  
  
“Oh, right. Cripes...”  
  
Around them, the snow was falling from a red, red sky that he knew all too well; he'd seen it every night on Earth since the invasion had began.   
But was this Earth, or..?  
The white powder stuck against him in heavy clumps, and for a brief few seconds Gerald felt like a child again, gleefully building, what were they called...

The pain Hyphen was in distracted him from the frustrating inability to remember what, even, he was trying to describe.   
Hurriedly, he unwrapped the few bits of armor that he still wore.   
  
None of them fit her, and so soon he was wandering the snowy wastes in just badly-fitted military pants, with a demon companion shivering at his side, wrapped in a green t-shirt and his gore-stained white undershirt.

Both of which also failed to fit her tall, lanky frame.

“We're both gonna freeze to death at this rate. That's what finally got us, the cold.”  
  
He couldn't help but find it all incredibly amusing, though his laughter was probably borne as much of hypothermia as anything else, the caution at the back of his mind tried to tell him.  
He soundly ignored it, since, after all – if they were going to die of frost, what was the point of caring..?  
  
“I don't... Want to die of cold... There – there, there!”  
  
Hyphen had tried several times to manifest whatever fire he'd thought her capable of calling forth at will; it clearly didn't work so well when the wielder was hurt, or exhausted, and he'd have to ask her about that, in the next life...

But a bit of his strength returned to him as he saw what she'd been gesturing towards; a long, grey craft that resembled a much larger version of the eight-track vehicles they'd had back home.   
Excitement surged into a certainty within him, and he began cutting through the white snowdrifts, aggressively – not even noticing as Hyphen fell against his back, but shouldering her easily as each step brought him closer to their goal.

The door of the vehicle had been pried open, or left open, and forced to remain so by the walls of snow that had accumulated against it; probably a small mercy, since he doubted his ability to unjam it from outside if it'd been frozen shut.  
Despite that, the interior was a world warmer then outside, though still well below freezing.  
And though the craft was vast indeed, it appeared to have been completely cannibalized, depowered, and left for dead in these ice wastes.

Knowing there was no time to rest, Gerald darted from room to room, flicking switches at random.   
  
Power wasn't returning, so he soon returned to the vehicle's entryway, once built to carry a mixture of individuals and smaller vehicles in comfort and luxury –   
Now all but empty save for a large computer screen hanging, broken, from the center of the room.

Closing the door tightly shut and winching the valve that sealed it tightly into place, he gathered everything he could that looked like it'd burn.   
Furniture, bits of paper sealed with official-looking stationary, a rabbit's foot affixed to a cheap chain...  
  
Somebody's lucky charm, perhaps; but it must not have brought them that much luck.

And there was soon a roaring fire in front of them.   
It was surprisingly easy to start a fire once you knew the trick to it, but then again, perhaps meeting Masterson had saved his life more than it had come close to taking it...

“Ah... Gerald...”  
  
“Hey, don't worry, Hyphen. We've got some heat coming. There'll be a lot of smoke, but I'm going to see if I can get the ventilation system running. I don't even know if you're worried about that, but – “  
  
“Thank you...”  
  
Her weak cry cut him more then the cold, and he stayed by her shivering body far longer then he needed to, just watching to make sure her breathing was regular and normal – hand against her waist until he felt the heat returning to her.

But getting the ventilation system started turned out to be a cinch.   
  
He wasn't sure what the name of the land-carrier was, but it'd been built to last.   
Even damaged and stripped as it was, there were backup systems for backup systems, and the generator ran on a power-source he'd never seen before.  
He'd read a bad novel or two that'd featured fusion power, and was this..?  
  
But the reactor didn't look like any kind he'd seen, and glistened gently with a soft green light.   
It restarted almost as soon as he'd began messing halfheartedly with the console in front of him, though certain rooms were so damaged that the system refused to supply them with power.

… Still.

[When he had returned, Hyphen was propped up, arms against her knees, which occasionally shivered against each other. ](http://science-fiction.ambient-mixer.com/firefly-style-engine-hum)  
She kept extending and retracting her spikes, as if afraid they might freeze inside of her; perhaps they would, he was hardly an expert.

“Hi! Hi, mmn. That was – unpleasant. I do not think I like snow. But, it is very pretty...”  
  
“Are you holding up okay, Hyphen..?”  
  
She nodded ferociously, half of her eight eyes blinking at him in perfect unison. He laughed, in spite of himself.

“Very much so. This is a nice fire. And this – this is a very nice ship. I think I know why I feel home, now.”  
  
“Oh, wow, do your people build stuff like this...”  
  
“No, no, no!”  
  
Hyphen paused to wave her arms rapidly in front of her, as if warding him off – she seemed incredibly embarrassed, all of a sudden.

“We take them over. Sometimes. But, building things like this, that's rare. It takes so much effort... Much easier to. Commandeer them.”  
  
“I see – do you think you could do anything to fix the old girl up?”  
  
“Old girl?...”  
  
“The ship – the craft, I guess.”  
  
Hyphen paused, eyes 'shut' tightly with that odd brown film.   
She tilted her head from side to side, occasionally letting her feet draw close to the fire; the brown chitin had grown back well, though it still looked a little thinner and weaker in spots...

“... Yes. I think I can. I can try. If you would like?”  
  
“Are you serious!?”

“Do not underestimate me.”  
  
She grinned quickly, then returned to a more neutral and pensive frown.  
  
“But don't overestimate me, either. This is – a very well-made craft. So. We'll see.”

“You're the best, Hyphen. Don't worry; we can hunker down for a bit in here, it's not like we're going to run low on food or anything, for awhile; I'll start venturing out into the wastes, we'll find where we need to go next, and then we can mount an expedition!”  
  
“... I do not want to to back out there...”  
  
“Sorry. I promise that if we have to take that route, we'll prepare for it in advance. For now – just take some time and get used to the ship, all right? I'm going to go see if I can find anything useful.”  
  
Hyphen made a strange mewling noise as he turned to leave – Gerald turned back, just in time to see her moving her right hand back and forth in the air, slowly and somewhat shyly.  
… He waved back, unable to conceal his smile.

As it turned out, there was probably too much salvage even if Masterson and Manon had been somehow simultaneously present, and agreeable; the crew quarters alone were a goldmine of strange, sad personal memorabilia that seemed far more complex then the pale imitations manufactured by Elsewhere, furthering his impression that wherever they were, it was a real place that had been subsumed by it, and not some illusion or creation...  
  
Sighing, he dropped one of the letters that had been lovingly written by an unsigned paramour to their lover, on whatever mission had brought the crew of this vehicle to the forsaken tundra.   
As he watched it fall, it drifted through the air to the dresser drawer he'd taken it from...

A dresser drawer full to the brim with well-pressed and still-ironed uniforms.

It didn't take long to find a few that fit him, and he packed several with his well-worn bedroll...   
Then decided better, and traded the heat-and-combat damaged sleeping bag for a more modern edition that looked much more resilient...   
And had probably been made with a much higher budget in mind.

Finding clothes for Hyphen was more difficult, given that her frame was not exactly human; even calling her humanoid was pushing it.   
She was certainly strong, and muscular in her way, but her limbs were sinuous, elongated, and she didn't feel heavy; encumbering her with too much weight felt like a bad idea.

There had been numerous women on the crew, and several that stood above six feet.   
Hyphen didn't really have the proportions of a normal human, man or woman, but...   
Well, they'd see what they could do.   
  
The fabric was grey and studded with a few bits of brass or some other metal, perhaps a military ornamentation he could not understand the point of.

It was otherwise unadorned, however, unless the incredible warmth and resilience against the cold counted as adornment.

When he returned – Hyphen had done _something_.

A strange _lump_ that looked like someone had caged fired and then put a skein of gelatin over it had grown over the monitor.   
Beneath it, the monitor was burning; eventually, the skein broke open, and the glass of the monitor was displaying...   
Static, of some kind.  
  


But regardless of what had just happened, it was displaying, and perhaps even receiving..?!  
  
For the first time since his radio had gone all but silent, Gerald rushed forwards excitedly, crashing into Hyphen so excitedly that he nearly twirled her to the floor.   
She caught him, stumbled back a bit against the wall, and stared into his eyes with a mixture of surprise and the slightest smug pride.  
  
“It wasn't so difficult. Do not praise me yet! I am just! Getting started!”  
  
“Told you that you were the strongest.”  
  
“Stop...”  
  
“Oh, and hey, look what I found you! If we end up having to trudge through the snow again...”  
  
“You look – very official in that. I like it. Oh – oh...”  
  
Her expression was unreadable as she realized he was talking about the clothes he had brought her.   
She did not seem angry or unhappy at all, and perhaps even a little happy at the idea of wearing the same things he did, but –   
  
“Do you really think I will fit into that? What about... My cutting knives. I don't want to ruin something so nice.”  
  
“Uh, don't worry about that; there's a few more in reserve. Cutting knives, huh... I think protecting you is more important then worrying about the damage your blades cause to defenseless fabric. I realize it's not a very good present, but – “  
  
“It is a present? For me?”  
  
And her eyes lit up, eight tiny beacons of dancing darkness that glimmered as if he had given her the world and a day.

“Oh, oh! Then I shall accept it! Gladly! _AHAHAHAHA!”_

For once, that strange laughter she affected did not seem forced, but came from her huge grin because she didn't know _how_ to express just how happy she was.   
He'd hardly planned to give her somebody else's unused, or perhaps previously used, military uniform as a gift, but...

“I'm glad you like it, Hyphen. Don't feel like you've gotta get changed right now; I'm really impressed with your work, can I touch anything or should I just let the master do her stuff?”  
  
“Mmn, well. You can touch anything. That you like. But it probably won't work until I've gone over it.”  
  
Her first few words were murmured in a strange, pleasantly enigmatic tone even as she mulled his question over her rows of teeth.

“There is a lot to do. Actually, you could do me a huge favor. Would you be willing to – go to the rooms, here, and see what works?”  
  
“Already on it!”  
  
The next few hours – and it was at least two of them, Gerald felt – came and went as he drifted between various corridors and cabins, seeing what happened as it happened and reporting back to Hyphen – sometimes just yelling that power or light worked, and in other cases running back to her – to ask why things were glowing, pulsating or, well...

If he was being honest, it felt like the vessel was being corrupted.   
Changed into something new, perhaps completely ant-ethical to whatever purpose it had originally served.  
Maybe at some point, in some past, that would've bothered him.

But it didn't – not anymore. For one, the possibility of communications – with any realm, with any person! – absolutely thrilled him.   
If there were survivors on... On Earth, then maybe they could communicate, tell him what the sitrep was, give him orders.

And there was a childish glee to it, as well. Hyphen was so happy to make herself useful, and for him it was like watching a wizard performing a magic trick; he was sure she wouldn't like the comparison, once he had explained it – but that's what it seemed like, magic.   
He'd hear the hiss of steam, the screaming strain of steel as it flexed and warped, and then _other things_ would layer on top of it, and the process would began.

She'd compared it to her own 'jumping,' that thing she called compression. It had seemed to take a lot out of her back in Elsewhere, but this...  
This place was near her home, was it... Or nearer...?  
  
Whatever – there was too much to think about, and he didn't feel comfortable trying to plan everything out while they were still taking stock, possibly to have a vehicle of their very own to travel around in.  
And it was about that point that he stumbled past what had once been the communal mess halls, and into what had been a communal shower.

Unblinkingly, he stared at the taps that hung above him.

How long had it been since he'd seen running water, had access to running water?  
  
And he could remember a distant life, where it had been normal to have access to cool or hot air at the flick of a switch, where you could lose yourself in an eternity of warm water and a good book, and not for the first time did he nearly weep.

But this time, he did not.  
Gerald closed his eyes, waited for Hyphen's work call to reach him, diluted and distant from down the hallway, and responded without thinking;  
  
Then, he turned the closest tap and let the roar of warm water deaden him to the world and its worries.

 


	21. E3M3 - Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I remember Autumn, when we passed that old place you liked – the one that only was open from twelve to two. What kind of hours were those? And we'd walk to the park, and joke like we were young, and watch the geese, and wait.
> 
> … And I remember.  
> ~

[He stared at his fingers](https://youtu.be/Rxfq6sdr3NI) as he wrenched the water from his new uniform; it felt as if an eternity has passed in the time it took him just to move out from under the shower's comforting flow.  
  
But the hands he saw looked as if they belonged to a stranger; they were thicker and more calloused, and he could not recall when the most strenuous work he'd done in the day was advise somebody to buy the most expensive wireless router they offered...

The droplets of water hit the floor and drained into a grate, and he watched them go.   
As they shifted and disappeared, he wondered for a moment if he couldn't join them – just drift out into the snow and evaporate, and leave Elsewhere and everything to do with it behind.

Gerald's eyes shut.

It wouldn't be so bad to just vanish into the air.  
To give up, and to not feel anything, ever again.

But to leave Hyphen, now...

Strange.  
  
Opening his eyes, he tried to figure out what it was that was washing over him, but aside from the water, all else felt immaterial and unreal.   
He didn't feel as if he were sad – but the weight of it all, like the weight of the water, so heavily soaked into that grey fabric, was so much more then it first appeared.

With a long and drawn-out sigh, Gerald placed the uniform on one of many drying shelves, some crammed with various personal accessories.   
It seemed as if the crew here had been incredibly diverse; probably selected from some of the best and brightest of humanity, whatever personal quirks they might have had.

... Then, a bit selfishly, he stepped back into the shower.

Like rain, the water poured back over him, warm and comforting. He shut his eyes for the second time and let it pour over his skin, feeling it sink into every scar and healed wound.  
… Had he even been wounded so horribly? He couldn't find the point of impact left by Masterson's shots, if that had – had it even happened...

And everything felt like a dream, a dream with no clear beginning or end.

Letting his fingers cross from his eyes to his beard, he smiled, softly.  
He'd have to trim it, of course.   
Letting it grow out just didn't sit right, but he could imagine how sad she'd feel if Hyphen didn't have it to look forward to...

And there were tools here; scissors and razors in every shape and style imaginable, fancier stuff then he'd ever seen before, let alone used.   
He'd half a mind to do something ridiculous, something silly; try styling his beard or braiding it, just because there was no one else to care – and he didn't know if he cared, anymore, and yet...

The doubts and malaise melted off with the water and falling hair as he settled on the familiar feel of a close trim.   
It was strange how such a simple thing could bring back such a feeling of accomplishment, but so it did; and as Gerald ran his fingers through stubble-that-was-almost-a-beard, he felt...  
A little saner, or perhaps more capable of dealing with whatever insanities Elsewhere had to offer.

[It was halfway to reaching for a fancy-smelling shampoo that had been the property of one of the science officers, when his hand met hers. ](http://www.infinitelooper.com/?v=ophyrm_r0DI&p=n)

“Hey there, Hyphen. Sorry if I abandoned you – this is incredible. You have no idea how much this means to me; it's given me back a lot of...”  
  
Gerald stopped, stuttering and stumbling with his words. How on earth do you even thank someone for giving you such a small gift that means so much..?   
And he'd wanted to say that it had given him back a lot of his _humanity,_ but was that even the right term, anymore..?  
  
It felt natural though – her hand against his.   
Smiling, he curled his fingers around hers, and Hyphen hummed to herself – quietly.   
Pleasantly.

She was giving the shower area a wide birth, occasionally hissing at drops of water as they came near, though with how far away she was leaning, only a very few came her way. Apparently, Gerald decided, the water wasn't very afraid of her.

Despite the water, she was here, though – watching him from behind those pure black eyes.

“It is no trouble. I just wanted to join you. For awhile. If it's all right.”  
  
Her chittering indicated she already knew it was fine; when had they become so comfortable..?  
A little selfishly, he wished he could've noticed it earlier, but – this was fine as it was.

“I'll try not to kick up too much water and your way. Is it less of a pain if I turn the heat up?”  
  
“Yes! _Please.”_  
  
Hot water had never been something he enjoyed, but recently it hadn't felt hot enough – perhaps because of the fact they were stranded in what felt like the arctic.   
Maybe it was the arctic; or perhaps a pale imitation of it...  
It was hard to know, in Elsewhere.

The jet of water above hissed and drenched him in sizzling droplets of water that seemed ready to boil and evaporate into the air.   
And they hit his back and ran down his spine and felt glorious, and he shut his eyes again.

… At some point, he felt Hyphen walk behind him.

“Don't. Don't do anything that'll, that'll cut off your breathing, I mean...”  
  
He was glad he didn't have to explain blushing, at least.   
Even without opening his eyes, he could hear her gentle, teasing laughter from behind him – a susurration of shaken teeth that belied the softness of that smile he wouldn't have known, if never he'd arrived in Elsewhere...

“I make no promises. You are an excellent shield.”  
  
Her left leg pressed against his; it was, he realized, the first time he'd felt the bareness of her chitin against his skin.   
It was incredibly smooth, but not featureless; he could sense the grooves where time had worn tiny patterns into it, where it had grown fresh and was healing well...

Lowering his hand to her knee, he slid it slowly up the length of her thigh, not even certain of what he was doing – but happy just to have her close to him.

“Glad that I can – be of service. But I'm going to be here awhile. It feels a little like heaven to me.”

“Stay as long as you like. This is all yours. If you like it.”  
  
Her chittering faded into the running water around them, and he could hear himself exhale – but of course, she didn't breath like he did, so she had fallen completely silent...   
Save for the way her body trembled ever so slightly, indicating that she was breathing very quickly, indeed.

“... I like – all of it, Hyphen. But don't you remember, what we said...”  
  
And Gerald couldn't remember what he'd said _only a few days ago,_ let alone what life had been like in another world, distant and lost to time;   
But that didn't seem to matter much, anymore.  
  
“Gerald – I remember. But I don't believe in fate. In things like that..!”  
  
The frustration in her voice carried even through the curtain of falling water around him, and he realized that no matter what he told himself, he wasn't alone in this – and the thought exhilarated him even as it frightened him.  
  
Beneath the water, he could feel his shaft rising, slowly, and he shifted his legs against one another in an attempt to hide it – perhaps from himself.

“I want – to go home – with you, Hyphen...”  
  
He murmured through clenched teeth, unable to decide where home even was.

Leaning into the shower wall, he buried his fingers in the hard tile, and clung to it like a lifeline.   
It felt like it might crumble away at his touch, until Hyphen placed her hands on top of his with an incredible softness.

And he felt her pulling closer behind him, pausing only to recoil from errant drops of water – and then not even from those.

“ _We are home,_ Gerald.”  
  
“Yeah. We are, aren't we...”  
  
It made a perfect kind of sense – they weren't going to get home, and he couldn't remember where that was, and it didn't matter.   
Home was a state of mind, and right now this is where he wanted to be –

With her. So it was home, wasn't it...  
  
“Will you. Turn around?”  
  
But she didn't need to ask.   
At this point, he would have, even if she hadn't asked it. All the frustration and confusion come to the fore and simmered out of him with the rising steam; the water pooled at his feet as he unintentionally cast droplets her way, but Hyphen made no attempt to dodge them.  
  
He hadn't known it was possible for her eyes to widen like they did, but he savored the way that all eight of them became wide pinpoints of black, as he kissed her aggressively.   
And he hadn't had the chance to really taste her before, and without lips he'd been unsure of what to expect.  
  
But that had been a mistake.   
As he lingered, feeling the incredible silken smoothness of her mouth pressed to his, he could just taste the scent of her, faint, and ashen, and intoxicating.   
Perhaps she hadn't been expecting him to turn around at all, because she was still trying to say something, but he wasn't listening.

The ridges of her teeth were a maze to navigate, but the feel of them taunting the underside of his tongue felt good, too.   
And when his tongue found hers, and he could further steal her words away...  
She pressed forward suddenly, pinning him back against the shower wall. Water was falling upon them both, now – but she didn't seem to care, or notice.  
  
And he had never noticed how wide and toned her thighs were. Even as he wanted to care, to ask her if she'd healed enough, he could feel his dick pulsing and pressing underneath them; her long legs slightly splayed, making it all too easy to rub against the smooth, featurelessness of her hips...  
Featureless?...  
  
Gritting his teeth in further frustration, he rutted aimlessly against her as she pulled back from the kiss, saying nothing; just watching him with that same irrepressible curiosity.   
The droplets of water weren't doing much to lubricate him, but her smoothness had been a blessing in disguise; already a trail of his desire shone against her dark umber chitin, growing every second as he smeared himself over her.  
  
Silently, Hyphen reached past him, and turned the water off.  
Her eyes never once left the length of him, until they turned in unison to his.  
  
And she whispered...  
  
“I've never been good at holding my breath.”  
  
Trying to nod while fighting the painful desire building up within him, he didn't understand until she'd half-knelt to the floor what, exactly, she had meant.   
As the water pooled around them, occasionally shining with shimmering white strands, she fell to all fours, hiding the imposing way she'd stood over him mere moments before.  
  
Slowly, her tongue slid over the tip of his shaft, flexible and soft. She made no secret of her amused pride as he tried to grunt out some response, but could barely manage even that, his hips jutting upwards as she pulled back –

And then, agonizingly slowly, took the length of him into her mouth.  
  
Each passing second, he could feel himself sinking a little deeper into her; he'd shut his eyes without thinking, and risked opening them only to see a maze of patchwork black staring back at him.   
  
Some of her eyes were filmed over, deep in concentration...

The others flickering over for a fraction of a second, just enough for him to realize she was winking at him.

And then she was pumping his rod in and out of her mouth all too swiftly, and he was unable to stop himself from coming before she'd even started.   
The strands of white jerked sloppily inside of her, some falling from the darkened orange curves of her amused smile – she lapped them up, then tickled the tip of his pulsing shaft with her tongue.  
  
He hadn't thought it possible, but already he could feel himself growing hard again – she was playing with the head of his shaft, taking it just far enough into her mouth that he could feel the mix of her saliva and his seed staining it.  
Then she sank down upon it again and – denying him release, slowly pulled herself off of him.  
  
“Oh, Hyphen...”  
  
Murmuring her name in a mixture of praise and remorse, he somehow managed to force his eyes open again, even though his vision was swimming all around him.   
She was lapping away at her arms like a cat might, the last trace of spilled white vanishing as he watched.  
  
Seeing him, she smiled a little embarrassedly. Her fingers had fallen down her side, playing with the small, visibly lighter slit that had opened up under the hard chitin of her thighs...

...?  
  
“Uh...?”  
  
“I wasn't... Enough, earlier... So...”  
  
“Oh – right.”  
  
That made perfect sense, even if he wished she'd told him earlier. He wished he'd done _this_ earlier, _talked_ to her earlier, anything – but it didn't matter. This could be theirs whenever they wanted. Desire overcame him again, smothering something else which had been trying to be found for the final time.

Her smile didn't vanish as he kissed her again, and he gave her another, gentler kiss just because of that.  
She leaned over him and crooked her neck against his head; he could just see the curve of her smile from this position, and feel the smooth contours of her body wound tightly against him...

That's what she was doing, after all, winding so thoroughly against him that he began to wonder if he'd ever move again.   
It was as if the litheness of her muscles had anticipated every way he might twist and turn to cut it off, pulling his legs to the side and repositioning them closer to her –  
  
So that the tip of his shaft, so swollen and soaked with desire, could just feel the incredible heat of her entrance, held tantalizingly close to him.  
  
“I – I can't control myself...”  
  
He whispered throatily, trying to warn her about something, without knowing what it was. Her response was laughter, that chittering laughter that sounded like bladed music to him.  
  
“It is fine.”  
  
She whispered in reply, and brought herself closer – even as he could contain himself no longer.   
The weight of his hips swung forward to meet hers, and his rod slid under and past the narrowness of her snatch, once more jutting fruitlessly past her thighs.  
  
He could feel the weight of her shifting against him as her hand found his shaft, curiously stroking it once before guiding it gently into her. Heat that would have been excruciating for him before engulfed him, and he could think only of how he wanted more; and the fire that had been lit inside of him grew.  
  
The smile on her face twisted a bit as she took him into her; at first, she tried to hide the hunger she held, but her facade cracked all too quickly, betrayed by her flickering eyes and the way she couldn't quite keep her mouth open...  
  
And then he felt her hips sink down to the base of his shaft, and realized he was entirely inside of her.   
His rod swelled and his hands sank back behind him, clutching the wall for support – before throwing themselves around her back and trying to dig into the hard carapace they found there, to shape it and mold it as they could.  
  
But the orange roughness of her shoulders stymied even that.  
Breathing ragged, he clung to her, relishing in the way she shivered against him, but did not recoil from the beads of sweat trickling down his flesh.   
  
With every thrust, he realized that as quickly as they were moving against one another, he had yet to find the source of the tantalizing heat that was so utterly devouring him, and his mind. She managed to grin at him once more, cooing softly and murmuring something that his brain was too addled to comprehend.  
  
Slowly, she ground her hips against his, and at first he thought that she was only taunting him further – but then he could feel something indescribably soft, burning with a gentle heat. The sweat cascaded from his brow, falling to the floor in heavy drops as he realized that he was not yet _fully_ inside of her...  
  
It started with her pushing him back against the wall, this time using it as a support as they writhed against each other, him trying to contain his wild thrusting, even as he knew it was accomplishing little besides the incredible feeling coursing through him.  
And she'd pause, and laugh and shift her legs – and sigh, and try again...  
  
Then – wonderfully – she fell upon him, and he slipped into the burning center of her, and all went white.  
  
He was just aware of her moaning something, and realizing that it was his name. And he tried to call out her name, her _full_ name, the way she'd said it once – perhaps in a dream.   
His voice was sore from the try, but it didn't matter. His fingers found her waist, and it was pliant against them as he sunk himself inside the fire of her deepness.  
  
And, though he had warned her he couldn't control himself...  
Still, he realized – he was coming inside of her.  
It must have been unusual to her as well, for she made a strange, cooing gasp – but all he could feel was the imprisoning warmth smothering and engulfing his shaft as it disgorged his whiteness inside of her.  
  
Her hands wound around his back, and he could feel her blades slightly extended; perhaps she couldn't control them well, like this.   
The sharp pressure felt oddly pleasant, and he pressed against them to the point where they just felt like they might leave a mark upon his skin – and the idea of it excited him further still.  
  
The weight of his shaft continued to thrust and sputter into her, and he could feel his seed pouring out of the narrow entryway of her slit, which was now shining a much brighter orange then the rest of her.   
It fell to the floor in splattering white gobs which overwhelmed the few droplets of water left from their earlier shower, and still more fell.  
  
Instinctively, he tried to pull back, but her grip tightened and a strange, bestial snarl slid across her face – and he realized that he couldn't.   
The same tightness that had utterly engulfed him had trapped him, and he could only move far enough away from her to thrust into her again, and again...  
  
And so he continued to do so, until exhaustion finally claimed the both of them, and she fell against him and he fell out of her, and his shaft slapped against his leg, leaking white, and he held her, panting and saying nothing.  
  
Whether it was minutes or hours, or perhaps longer still, his voice first returned to him in the form of laughter.   
Soft, happy laughter – the laughter of a man glad to be alive, and to be with someone whom he loved.   
A kind of laughter he had forgotten, and that came to him freely.  
  
Most of her eyes remained shut, but two black orbs stared at him as her fingers traced his smile and she mirrored it with her own.  
  
“You have a very beautiful smile.”  
  
She whispered, and there was a strange sense of nostalgic melancholy to it. It didn't quite put a damper on his good mood, but he wished – he had hoped...  
Seeing his concern, Hyphen kissed him softly above the nose, nuzzling her head against his.  
  
“I am happy. Do not fear. Please...”  
  
“I – I can't do that, Hyphen. Please talk to me.”  
  
Falling to the ground next to him, first to all fours – and then pulling her legs up to her chest as if she were lonely child, Hyphen stared into the dimly lit corridors around them...   
And not at him.  
  
“Do you think I am selfish.”  
  
“... What?”  
  
He fell next to her, and she smiled a little bit; perhaps since he was mimicking her gesture, this time.   
The thought occurred to him that he should do it more often, and he resolved to do so...   
  
Once he had figured out what was preying upon her mind.  
  
“No, Hyphen. I mean – everyone is a little selfish. If it's because, you... Did you want that – ”  
  
“... Yes...”  
  
Never had a single word sent so many chills down his spine.  
  
“W-well, uh, uh...”  
  
“I – feel a bit better already, now. Somehow it seems less silly. Said aloud. And I feel comfortable with you inside of me. And beside me.”  
  
She cooed again, shooting him a mischievous smile – her teeth glinting in the yellow electrical light flickering above. He – had come inside of her, hadn't he...   
That was almost certainly not an issue, save for the question he had –   
  
“Uh, this is probably incredibly awkward, but I know my – that's partly water, it didn't...”  
  
“Not at all.”  
  
“All right.”  
  
Inhaling air to steel himself before he continued, Gerald tried to concentrate his thoughts, and found he didn't care to.  
  
“... Can we do it again?”  
  
When they'd finished, Hyphen refused to walk back to the room they'd set the fire in; she had apparently doused it, but he remained skeptical, especially as, though a rudimentary circle of stones and metal had been placed around it, some of the embers seemed relatively recent...  
  
The vehicle was now pulsing with an incredibly pleasant warmth that was almost humid; his blood felt like it was pumping twice as fast, and he felt more stronger, more certain.  
It wasn't just that they'd get home – perhaps decided which home that was – they'd do well by it.   
Elsewhere would not have its rule over them...  
  
Finally, he settled on carrying her to what he assumed had been the commanding officer's cabin. The rich brocade sheets looked nice, anyway.  
  
“What is all this.”  
  
Hyphen asked, with a slight skepticism in her voice.  
  
“A bed.”  
  
“Oh...?”  
  
“I thought – since we've been sleeping on metal and floors and caverns, that it would be nice – even if just once – to get some rest somewhere nice. Back home, this is what we use.”  
  
“Well – I do not mind... Sleeping on metal, or floors, or other hard things...”  
  
“Geeze, Hyphen... With – all of that, I don't know if your carapace needs more, er, less activity to recover...”  
  
“Possibly.”  
  
Hyphen conceded with the smallest of frowns.  
  
From his back, she slowly extended her toe towards the sheets, murmuring with appreciative surprise when she made contact – then flopping onto it and rolling around as if it were the finest thing in the world.  
  
“This is not bad. I accept it.”  
  
“Yes, well, uh, excellent. Do you mind if we – “  
  
“Please.”  
  
No longer was her smile alien at all; in the lipless, gentle curves of it, he saw the cares of a friend who had walked with him through all the hells of an alien world.   
The upswing of her teeth made him want to smile to, to see the little way it pulled at the corner of her face to see him, acting like her.  
  
So, this was what it was like to be in love with someone from another – another...  
  
“Good night, Hyphen. I guess tomorrow we'll try to get this moving, and see if we can find a way out, but – pleasant dreams.”  
  
“I always have pleasant dreams. Around you.”  
  
And Hyphen curled up next to him, chittering with barely concealed excitement as he pulled the sheets around them.  
  
... He could hear the outside through the sheeted metal of the vehicle's exterior.  
Gale force winds were kicking up snow, howling in anguish and rage that they could not steal away this little happiness.  
  
And it was a strange defiance that he felt wash over him, but it was a defiance all the same.  
Rejection of this realm and its brutality – a hope for future, and for love, and feeling that maybe – maybe...  
His vision blurred, and he thought he saw Hyphen smile before he drifted into a peaceful sleep.  
  
... In her dreams, the world was ablaze with a great warmth.  
Where the sky had cracked, it was easier to **compress;** to reach through the breach of things, and travel quickly, to bring all who might arrive.   
It was not just a dry heat, however; it brought with it humidity, and with that humidity grew many great plants, the kind she had yet to name.  
  
She had, after all, used passed on her two most cherished names.  
  
But the humidity and rain did not bother her any longer; the fire inside of her had become stronger, as well.   
And where the world's fire had died out, they had enough so that it might be reignited, and grow stronger as well...  
  
Strong – that is what he had called her.   
  
The strongest.  
  
There was something at the edge of the dreams, of course – there always was.   
Not to worry, for she refused to allow worry the luxury of propagating even in her subconsciousness.  
But – a memory of a memory, something that seemed decidedly important –  
  
Even more important than classifying trees, or learning to dance, or even becoming stronger.  
  
In her restless sleep, Hyphen's eyes filmed and unfilmed rapidly, the warmth of heavy blankets doing little to shield her from the feeling that something was terribly wrong; terribly, unimportantly wrong, and yet that unimportance would cost her –  
  
But, then again, it probably didn't matter.  
  
She had struggled greatly with memories of memories recently, and after all, what could be so important about a memory if it was so easily forgotten..?  
And, shielded by the warmth of the one she loved, and her own, secured, dreams, Hyphen slept peacefully and well –  
  
And outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing all of the world in a sea of deadened white.

 


	22. E3M4 - Hyphen's Dark Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, don't be so crass. You're always worried about the future! Let me tell you this, and I'll tell you once, Copeman...
> 
> Ah, fuck it. Don't listen to me. Whatever you do, don't listen to me.  
> Please.  
> ~

[When Gerald woke, he was shivering, and nauseous. ](http://science-fiction.ambient-mixer.com/abandoned-vessel)  
  
The full impact of what he'd just done sunk into him in an overwhelming rush, the sweetly-tinged thrill laced with disbelief, and uncertainty. _And disgust._  
Beside him, Hyphen was curled up on top of the sheets, eyes filmed over – deep in sleep. _Could it be called sleep?_  
His fingers shook, and he wasn't sure what he wanted to do – only that he didn't like it.  
  
Slowly, the feelings passed, and he could feel his logic returning.  
He – whatever happened, he cared for Hyphen. And it didn't matter if she were from Deimos, or Elsewhere, or Nowhere; it didn't matter.  
  
So, there was no need to feel, so...  
  
Gerald undressed, and stared at himself, and dressed again.

Occasionally, he paused to rub his hand against his face, through his beard – trying to shake the sickness in the back of his soul, whispering that this wasn't right, and what he'd just, what they'd just...  
  
He glanced out the window, and nearly jumped at the sight of the snow; it had near doubled as they slept.  
Somehow, the white miasma was enough to force him back to the present...  
If not enough to dispel all of his doubts, doubts that he had foolishly pretended he wouldn't have in the morning, doubts – and regrets...  
  
“You look very well – Gerald?”  
  
… Part of him wanted to never hear that voice again, even as he clung to it, her gentleness reminding him that this was all right – and it was what was real, now.  
She was real – he was real. There was no need, to think...  
  
“I'm fine. Looks like there's a lot of snow out there, isn't there?”  
  
“Ssssh.”  
  
A few of her eyes shut as she circled him, her angry hissing towards the unresponding snow removing a few more of the locks that he'd felt cinching shut around him.  
Hyphen stretched and lay languid against the wall, her eyes turning to his with a curious expression.  
  
“You do not seem fine. Hmn. Maybe we can improve your mood?”  
  
“I don't know if – “  
  
“We shall explore! I've decided it. Let me show you my handiwork! I am very proud. _AHAHAHA!”_

And she had reason to be, though he wouldn't have recognized the vessel as having been manufactured by human hands anymore, if he'd stumbled upon it himself.  
  
The machinery – all of it – was overwhelmed and overtaken and shattered, pockmarked by flames and choking out exhausted protests of crackling electricity.  
It should have all been broken and ruined, but yet somehow...  
  
Lights flickered on and off, in an uncertain but steady pattern. Systems readouts hesitated and stuttered, but read true, even though the tongue they displayed information in was her own and not his.  
And though everything was dyed a shallow red ambience the origins of which he could not quite place...  
  
“Oh, wow, you even – cripes, you even fixed the coffee machine, I wonder if there're grounds for it...”  
  
And it turned out there were, and not long after, the unfamiliar and destroyed interior was home to the familiar, and incredibly welcome scent of roasting coffee.  
It was amazing how a simple luxury could remove the heady rush of unpleasant thought, but between the joy of a warm shower and other things he was choosing not to think about, the uniform-green mug of hot coffee was absolute bliss.  
  
Pausing with it halfway to his lips, Gerald glanced at her.  
  
“D'you – have you ever had coffee before, Hyphen? I'll make you a cup, if you like.”  
  
“Please! I am excited to see if it is as palatable as the rest of your food!”  
  
Her excited chittering was infectious, and he shoved the last of his doubts far, far away.  
They could be dealt with later, much later, maybe never. If he just ignored them long enough, then – that was fine...  
  
When the black liquid poured into the second mug, Hyphen poked a finger into it, inured to the heat of the freshly ground coffee.  
She licked it off of her fingers, and – that was certainly a face.  
  
“It is quite bitter...”  
  
“That's the appeal. And this'll be thick enough to stick a fork in later, but, it'll keep you going. Er, if you care for it. And as long as it isn't, toxic, or something - “  
  
His nervousness was destroyed by her bemused laughter. Hyphen placed the mug to her lips as if it were some promissory offering, and swallowed the remaining contents whole – looking as if she might eat the mug when she was finished, though perhaps simply because she knew it'd make him laugh.  
  
“I have told you! I am very resilient. Besides. Bitter is good! And the heat is nice as well, yes. Hmn, we'll have to take this with us...”  
  
“Any idea where we're going, or if this can take us there? I'll admit, I'm not relishing the idea of hoofing it out there... It's snowed up a storm since we slept. Wherever we are, I think it only stops falling when it's too cold for it to form in the first place.”  
  
“Oh, awful... But yes. Yes, yes! This craft doesn't seem to travel just via locomotion, though. I think it can also **cut through** areas. Like **compression,** but on a very set path...”  
  
“We could use it to navigate Elsewhere?”  
  
He managed to contain his excitement, knowing in advance that she'd shake her head with that resigned, disappointed little sigh. That would've been too easy, wouldn't it..?  
Was he feeling the equivalent of some primary-school test on Deimos...?  
  
“Not exactly. It had a set course – ah, well... I do not know if I should tell you.”  
  
“Oh, c'mon, Hyphen. I promise I won't make fun of you for being able to reset the course data, so fill me in on it.”  
  
“... I think it was going home. To my home.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
Both of them were silent. He played the cup between his fingers, wishing there were some writing on it that he could pretend to find interesting; but it was green and standardized and boring, an artifact of military design.  
  
There was no room for idle talk, anymore.  
  
“Do you think – it'd still go there.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Hyphen responded so quietly that he strained his ears to hear her.  
The disappointment in her voice was palpable as the freshly fallen snow outside; settled into self-resentment that wasn't going to disappear with the rising day.  
  
“That's all right. You're still going to have to take me there sometime, so, we'll figure something out. Does that mean we're going to be stuck navigating the ice wastes after all?”  
  
“Hmn! Not quite!”  
  
Apparently, he'd asked the right thing; or she'd just needed him to be encouraging, but he was glad to do either.  
She was his – she was important to him, so he wanted to be there for her, if he could – if...  
  
Hyphen placed the mug on an empty table, rather far from where they were standing.  
She hovered it over a coaster for a brief minute, before placing it to the side.  
  
The way she couldn't tell why he was laughing made him feel better by the moment.  
  
“You see. I think we can still burrow through... Uh...”  
  
It was hard for her eyes to narrow, as round and insectoid as they were – but she was certainly trying, teeth tightly drawn against one another as she desperately fumbled for a way to explain what she wanted to say, borrowing his manner of speech as she did.  
  
Did she find him amusing, or maybe – pleasant... Was this just –  
  
“We'll try tracing the trail that brought us here. And maybe it will work. Maybe not. I am willing to take the risk in comfort, much better then... _Snow._ ”  
  
“Agreed. There's so much food here, too – I could make you a proper lunch, and a dinner, anything you wanted to eat. Just let the autopilot take care of things, and spend the rest of the day relaxing...”  
  
But he'd already known that it wouldn't be that simple. Hyphen's smile tore away at the edges, and she drew close to him.  
Fighting off hesitation and the urge to pull back, he forced himself to lean closer to her; and the smooth warmth of her touch helped ease the doubts and self-hatred churning in his mind.  
  
His fingers found her back, and he held her tightly to him, and was silent.  
  
“Do not worry about me. I am not going to be playing captain for long. I just do not want to crash, unpleasant places...”  
  
That's probably what she thought he was concerned about then, and it wasn't entirely wrong.  
Finding themselves trapped in a place that _wasn't_ Elsewhere, but close enough to it that they might find themselves there by mistake, lost and unable to return...  
  
“I'm not worried. You'd be a great captain, Hyphen. Is there anything I can do to help you out, or should I just stand here and read computer feeds to you?”  
  
His joke went over her head; pop culture was going to be entirely different between them, after all.  
But the comment did not, and she laughed a chittering reply, hands in front of her mouth as if to stifle it, though if that was what she intended, she was doing a very bad job.  
  
“Please stand there, yes. Just look pretty. I may ask you to fetch me food and drink later. You may praise me, as well.”  
  
“That sounds pretty awful, but I guess I can manage.”  
  
His good mood had finally returned, and he couldn't remember why he had felt so worried, so hateful, so – so lost in doubt. Was it just because they were different, uh...  
Did that really matter? And even if it were just the effects of being lost in Elsewhere together, was that really any worse then the start of any relation he'd had back home?  
_Not that he could remember the specifics -_  
  
A few minutes later, they'd set about clearing off room in the red-doused command center. The black monitor that was the most obvious feature of the room had returned to full life, making all sorts of creaking and horrific mechanical noises that he could've _swore_ meant that it was ruined.  
  
And yet, snippets of language drifted across it, and Hyphen seemed to miss none of them.  
  
Her eyes were constantly darting from room to room, and then from screen to screen as he wheeled several of the smaller monitoring stations in.  
They had all been labeled, things like biology, comms, life support...  
  
None of them were monitoring their intended purpose, anymore. She'd twisted them to a new purpose, a new life, and being machines, they could register no complaints.  
  
Outside, the snow was picking up – and they'd be buried soon if they didn't get moving, sooner.  
But the red sky made moving seem risky, somehow; perhaps he still remembered the shambling and skulking figures of humans that weren't, and that faint memory was a source of fear...  
  
Yet, as much as he felt fear, the red sky seemed incredibly peaceful, almost sunless, and serene.  
  
Skulking back into the room, Hyphen had –  
  
Gerald burst into laughter.  
She'd found an officer's hat, high-peaked and somewhat moth-eaten. It's previous owner had clearly meant to repair it, because a needle had stuck in the far edge of the cap, precariously balanced and just on the edge of falling to the floor below.  
  
It looked ridiculous, and ridiculous on her, and she _must_ have known, but he couldn't stop smiling. Hyphen mirrored his smile, and chittered happily.  
  
“As you can see. I'm truly a captain now, so you must follow my orders!”  
  
“What orders are those? I'm warning you, I never got fully inducted into the – into our military, so I might not be able to comply. _Captain._ ”  
  
The last word was said with a smirk that came easily, and she laughed at it from behind jagged teeth.  
He had to admit, she did look rather intimidating when she rose to her full height; but even if she had worn the uniform they'd found earlier, it wouldn't really suit her. They'd have to get one custom-made, if she wanted to really look the part...  
  
“Maybe I'll give you orders I know you can follow! But, right now. I need you to. Read those monitors.”  
  
“Oh, no, oh – fine...”  
  
Acting as if he was gravely wounded, Gerald stumbled over to the former workstation of a plant biologist, if the label was correct. It had been charred by the superheated fire that Hyphen brought forth, and the writing was all but illegible; not that it mattered.  
  
Thin lines that glistened and intersected like red strands of spiderweb criss-crossed the screen, meaning absolutely nothing to him.  
  
“What am I looking for, Hyphen? Er, _Captain_ Hyphen?”  
  
“Please just tell me if the lines start drifting too far apart. We want to keep on the trail. Not become lost.”  
  
He nodded as she pushed the brim of her cap up with one long finger, clearly focused on the work ahead of her.  
Around them, the engines roared to life, then tried to kill themselves, the vehicle groaning under the strain of whatever was forcing it to run in spite of itself.  
Whatever long-dead security system was trying to autoterminate, it couldn't defeat whatever Hyphen had done to it...  
  
With one last and resentful groan, the lights flickered and the craft began to pull itself from the snow around it.  
  
Excited, Gerald ran to a window – watching fields of snow drift slowly by them in the dark red twilight. It was a beautiful sight, though he only gave himself a minute to admire it before returning to his station.  
  
Behind them, the tracks in the snow began to grow more and more visible as the treads pulled themselves free.  
Hyphen clicked her teeth merrily, patting the center monitor, which seemed to recoil from her touch.  
  
“Machines seem to really hate you, Captain.”  
  
He observed wryly, and she affected a half-hearted shrug that looked bizarre coming from her wide orange shoulders.  
  
“Yes, yes! But they cannot deny me! _AHAHAHA!_ We're going to be traveling soon. I do not know how it shall go – “  
  
“Uh, Hyphen... This is a weird question, but can you say we're about to make the jump to lightspeed?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Sighing, Gerald ran his fingers through his beard, trying to think of a way to explain it without revealing how many hours he'd spent in the electronics retail store, watching questionable entertainment and letting it have far too great an effect on his life.  
  
But before any great rationale could form in the depths of his mind, Hyphen slammed her foot against the ground and pointed towards the center monitor, spikes fully extended from her shoulders.  
  
“Officer Gerald Copeman! We are entering! We are about to make the jump to lightspeed!”  
  
And he couldn't stop laughing, even as the snow _vaporized itself in front of them, particulates of white devouring themselves and eating away the hair on his neck, and his flesh and his bone and consuming the last traces of his laughter until there was nothing left._

… In spite of the incredible searing pain, much more nerve-wracking then the almost familiar lurch of the Kingsteen/Toivo device, the trip was both short and successful...  
Sort of.  
  
When he could feel aware again, the great craft had buried itself firmly in a stone wall that seemed to have grown around it.  
The vehicle grew silent, the treads spun a few meager times before giving out, and one by one, the lights flickered out and died.  
  
Still – they had done it.  
  
“Uh, we made it, Captain. You okay? I'm reporting in okay. I can't feel any long-term damage, seem to be all in one piece...”  
  
Hyphen seemed completely unaffected by the jump; perhaps it was similar to how her people had ended up in Elsewhere in the first place, and perhaps she was used to it enough that travel like this'd be the way to go, if he didn't want to inconvenience her...  
  
She beamed at him, saluting sharply.

“Yes, _yesyes!_ We've made it! Back in Elsewhere, if we ever left. I am sorry I broke the ship.”  
  
“Given that you fixed it into an uneasy unlife, I figure it died a final death doing what it loved. Let the poor girl rest in peace.”  
  
“... Okay, but I may try again later. I like being a captain.”  
  
Sniffing, Hyphen placed the cap on a nearby table, and almost instantly forgot about it.  
The windows around them were displaying a great many dark and gloomy passageways that looked as if they'd been pulled straight from the imagination of a builder obsessed with medieval European torture chambers.  
  
[Or, at least, and imagined idea of what those might be.](http://rpg.ambient-mixer.com/creepy-dungeon)  
  
“Do you think it is safe?”  
  
And for once, he was keenly aware that Hyphen was being _sarcastic._  
  
“Oh, incredibly. That's why I'm going to take point after we – hmn. Do you want to try putting that uniform on? They're kind of armored, so...”  
  
“I do not want to wear that. I want to wear _clothes._ ”  
  
“'Kay, gotcha. Just – know that it's here, all right. Should I – should I take it with me, in case we find ourselves in a cold place again?”  
  
She paused, chittering to herself – lost in thought.  
He imagined he knew why she wanted to wear clothes; to be more human, to be more like him, or to make him happy.  
But – when he wasn't at war with himself – he didn't care what she did or didn't dress in. He was just happy to be around her, and...  
  
“Hey, Hyphen. I think you look great as is. If I weren't so weak and fleshy, I'd strut around in the – in the buff, too. But I can't. So don't worry about it.”  
  
... The incredible soft chittering of her response, face lightening an almost unnoticeable shift to a more pale orange, was worth its weight in gold.  
  
“Very well. I still want, however. To wear clothes. Some day...”  
  
“Yeah, some day. So – let's take stock, and get going. Whatever is up ahead, I guess, we'll find it.”  
  
He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine what that might be.  
The rune was beating against him very quietly, and he listened to it as intently as it could. When it spoke, it spoke with a voice like the rumbling earth; promising him with the surety of stone that he was prepared for what was yet to come.  
  
“I think the rune is, it's not close, but it's not far, either. So if we get out here and walk, we'll be on the right path, at least. I'm going to – to clean my weapon. I'll meet you in a few.”  
  
She watched him go, and he turned back to glance at her – only to see Hyphen pull a bit of metal from the ceiling of the vehicle and climb inside.  
  
... Curious.  
  
But it didn't seem especially important; perhaps it was just a retreat to the enclosed spaces she professed to like, and who was he to judge?  
Cleaning the rifle was not an easy task, and he was almost certain that any soldier, _any_ other soldier who'd ever lived, would've told him he'd done it wrong.  
  
They were all probably dead, though, or lost and mad in this place.  
So he decided, apropos of nothing, that he'd done the best job in all the world.  
Maybe in all of them.  
  
When he returned to the center chamber, now all but completely blackened, Hyphen had returned.  
She'd wrapped a pack around her back, though the clasps had been scratched and damaged to more easily fit her lithe and unusual frame.  
  
“I wanted to carry my weight. And I also wanted to carry food. And coffee.”  
  
She waved her hand lazily in the air, as if this was not open to discussion; and he was glad of it, for the promise of coffee wherever they might find themselves, even if there weren't any more showers to be found for the foreseeable future...  
  
“Thanks, Hyphen. I think I've got everything I can grab. Should we leave a note for whomever might find this thing? I – I feel like we've met everything, but even if it's Masterson...”  
  
And the more he thought about it, he wasn't certain he could hate Masterson. This place – it did things to you, made you think things, forget things – remember new things, things that weren't true.  
Maybe, there was...  
  
“Okay, no, I do not think that. It is very nice, but, won't anyone who finds this take what they like anyway?”  
  
“Well, yeah, but a note is like – it's standard courtesy, and I like to write them, so...”  
  
She chittered in mild amusement as he studiously wrote a note to whomever might come, while feeling that it was probably a worthless task.  
Still – it felt good. To him, if to nobody else.  
Affixing it to the now deadened black screen, Gerald shouldered his bags, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the gloomy nightscape in front of them.  
  
… He'd heard stories about dungeons, of course. A lot of them sounded fake, the sort of thing that parents told their kids without knowing the proper history, and got believed if you repeated it enough.  
And everything in Elsewhere felt like it was a mirror of that bad history, ran through a dim, hazy filter.  
  
Except for this place.  
  
Manacles hung from the walls. Some of them held bits of meat, and the bits of meat shivered, even though they had no visible limbs.  
Bits of red gore fell from them to the ground, and he was glad for his heavy and reinforced boots; the only bit of his original gear to have survived the journey so far.  
  
The tunnels around them were wide, clearly designed for creatures far larger than either he or Hyphen.  
  
Gerald shut his eyes for a few moments, hoping that the rune might give him some insight, but it had grown silent; this was a test for the two of them alone, or perhaps it needed more time, or –  
  
“May I suggest we go north.”  
  
“Why north..?”  
  
“There is a very strong scent at the end of many of these hallways, not north. My sense of smell is bad, so if it is strong enough for me to smell...”  
  
Gerald realized with shock he couldn't smell _anything._ It felt as if someone had filed down his nose with a file, and the sudden realization hit him with the force of a hammerblow.  
It was probably just overexposure to the decaying and fetid smells that predominated Elsewhere, but...  
  
“Yeah, okay, good plan. I'll take point, but uh, stay close to me. And if you don't mind, keep us well lit. I trust you to keep an eye open, but I'll risk giving away our presence over being jumped, here...”  
  
“All right. Hold on to me, Gerald.”  
  
She didn't have to ask twice. His fingers found hers, taking her free hand in his tightly. The heat – which seemed lesser somehow, or perhaps he had simply grown used to it – was a welcome relief even though this place seemed without time or temperature.  
  
A hiss of steam and sulfur soon cut through the air as Hyphen held a ball of simmering flame within her right hand, and they navigated the northern tunnel. Like the others, it was wide and dark; but with the aid of firelight he could make out the stains on the grey bricks, dark stains that had once been left by meat, or what had become meat...  
  
The tunnel opened into a wide atrium, and the wide atrium was _awash_ with color.  
It was as if a box of paints had spilled on the ground around them; great white marble buildings stained blue and green and pink and gold with no apparent coordination or regard.  
  
Statues, defaced and lacking any visible limbs, rose up from the lichen-rich and mossy earth around them, covered with the same splotchy coat of paint.  
Most depicted humanoid figures, but without faces it was impossible to tell who they were or what they had been feeling.  
  
Yet a few had an arm or a leg, all held forward in front of them – protectively.  
It did not take a great imagination to create images of ghastly surprise, eyes widened in hopeless realization that there was no defense in the last moments of whatever had seized their form for some sick sculpture garden...  
  
Gathering his courage, Gerald stepped into the garden, and Hyphen drew close to him... Then hurled her fire at a nearby pond, rank and brown-watered.  
  
He'd half mustered a cry when the pond exploded into fire, kept lit by the virtue of dead plantlife dead and clogging it's decaying surface. Their oily sheen illuminated a morass of different colors and hues akin to the paints strewing the garden above.  
  
“Oh, er – thanks, Hyphen. That's a lot better. And I guess it makes sense that many dead plants'd burn so brightly, but – how ancient is this place, then...”  
  
“Very very ancient. I feel a familiar pull. Again. It is – it is like home, through a filter. It is very hard to explain...”  
  
He placed his hand against her shoulder, and didn't say a word until her nervous chittering had stopped, and she'd crooked her neck against his.  
  
“I understand. Trust me, I do – I'm beginning to think that the sense of unease is a good way to tell if we're on the right path or not. Still though – I don't see any way forward, do you?”  
  
Now that the walls and the garden plaza were cast awash in the glow of burning plantstuff, it was easy to tell that there was no clear way in or out besides the tunnel that they had journeyed through. Brick walls, some spattered with paint, and others with dark stains, lined every conceivable wall...  
  
And they proved sturdy, and impervious to fire.  
  
Leaning against one of the walls, now scorched in addition to all prior disfigurements, Gerald stared back at the garden; the fire on the lake showed no signs of abating, but its colorful flames had not revealed any secrets, and he was beginning to wonder if this was the worst kind of trap; one without any real danger to it, but enough allure to keep attention rapt until _something_ happened...  
  
“Hyphen – I think we should start going back where we came. There's nothing to it, but I feel like the longer we stay here, the longer we're at risk of making a mistake. So, what do you think about – “  
  
Gerald's words trailed off as, with a hellish screech from the headless statues before them, the ground itself lurched open, sucked into itself from the force of a gigantic sinkhole in the dirt below.  
Air rushed towards the opening at incredible speeds, and they were doused in darkness as the pressure asphyxiated the fire Hyphen had started.  
  
He struggled to say something, anything, to warn her or to try to pull her close to him – but his hands grasped and found only air. They were floating now, and for a brief moment it felt as if he was capable of flight itself.  
  
And then he knew nothing but terror as he was plunged through a winding series of tunnels beneath the earth, metallic and all alike.  
He was thrown against them until his body went as limp as that of a puppet with its strings cut, and with one final blow to his gut, Gerald lost all consciousness and knew no more.

 


	23. E3M7 - Human Factor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You look at a corpse long enough, you forget it was a man, once. Fuck all, you look at a man enough, you won't even think of him as a goddamn man. And that's how you get monsters, Copeman – not magic or superstition, that.
> 
> Oh, God. I never wanted this. I never wanted, fucking – fucking any of this...!  
> ~

[_Clang._](http://industry-machine.ambient-mixer.com/dark-industrial-machine)  
  
Her entire body screamed in protest; recently-regrown chitin covered in tiny, mottled bruises on carapace that had only just finished recovering.  
  
 _Clang._  
  
Hyphen knew, somehow, that she had not come so far to let her wounds weigh her down; not when she was still alive. Not when she had someone who thought her strong - not when she hoped, she...  
  
 _Clang._  
  
Forcing herself to open her eyes one by one, she acclimated to the factory before her; and it was clearly a factory; though one without workers or wares.  
The manufacture was similar to what a human might make, or what she _assumed_ Gerald's people might make. Lots of chains, conveyor belts, pulleys and the like...  
  
Great hooks hung from the ceiling, suspended from bits of wrought metal that reflected her gaze.  
She hissed at them, but of course they did not respond – inanimate machinery as they were.  
And this place was not awake, not yet, but she dreaded how it would feel when it was.  
  
“Gerald?"  
  
She whispered, casting her eyes about cautiously.  
Hyphen recalled seeing his body, turn and propelled through the air – away from her, and at a horrific speed.   
They couldn't be far; she felt certain that as huge as the complex was, that the tunnels above had not led to different places entirely...  
  
Reassuring herself, Hyphen tried to find a steady pace against the inactive conveyor belt she had landed on. Her feet, wide and ungainly as they were, didn't find easy purchase – but at least it wasn't moving, she comforted herself.  
  
Above, she could only just see the rotten, metallic glint of the corroded pipes that had brought her here.  
  
And far above them, she could see...   
Something else?  
  
Her eyes narrowed, a cavalcade of black – but whatever was sitting above the pipes was almost indistinguishable.   
  
But it was humanoid.  
But it kicked its feet, back and forth, aimlessly.  
  
But it _waved.  
  
_ She thought back her nervousness as the distant figure lay back and fell into the darkness, toppling to whatever death likely awaited them. She could see them drop – but not fall, nor any bottom but the darkness below.  
  
The metal paneling of the belt creaked under her every step, finally vanishing into a large machine perhaps designed to examine and process boxes or items.  
  
The ruddy stains against the walls looked like ichor, possibly fresh.   
Her vision was quite clear even in the unlit darkness, but so finely blended into the steel perimeter were the stains, that deducing when they had been made, was...  
  
Around her, floodlights sprung into life and the great machine began to whir and clank and sputter out gouts of black fog.   
Hyphen paused in terror, all of her eyes gone wide – as beneath her feet, the conveyor belt sped forward.  
  
She tried to walk backwards, fell to the ground, and scuttled to all fours. Overhead, a beam of pressurized red light hummed merrily – and the air above her fizzled and _died_.   
And she could smell the particulates as they ripped asunder and tried to escape the superheated air and then were _not._  
  
Falling flat to the conveyor belt, Hyphen placed her hands over her head and tried to ease forward – only as her rightmost eyes caught a brace of the pressurizing weapons charging not far beyond her... And beyond them, countless more thrummed with quiet energy, waiting.  
  
There was no way about it then. Seizing the hiss of dead and weakened atmosphere, she leapt forward through the **compression,** taking it wherever it would go.  
She ended up on top of the machine, which apparently went on for miles – and she could hear each brace of concurrent weaponry discharging every few seconds, and trembled.  
  
“Right, not bad. I was hoping you'd do something like that.”  
  
Her gaze shot above her, to where a familiar figure was standing on an overhanging conveyor belt, pacing and back and forth against its inactive metal plating. His boots made a threatening tap with every step he took, punctuating the glum expression that, if it was emblematic of his hope, was a terrible hope indeed.  
  
“First damn thing I've seen after getting this rune, and you won't even die properly. Pity, guess we'll have to do this the hard way, then.”  
  
And the glumness evaporated with a ghastly smile that held _no pity at all.  
  
_ “Please, please! I'm not hostile, not at all, please..!”  
  
Hyphen skittered backwards, falling over her feet as he raised a peculiar weapon into the air; it appeared to be hand-made, and looked as if it had assembled from the ruins of an assault rifle, a large stapler, and bits of string.  
  
It would've been laughable, if the click of hundreds of tiny nails propelling themselves towards her hadn't cut through the empty blackness of the abandoned factory, the clip of their hammerpoint filed off and ejected like shell casings into the darkness below.  
  
“Oh, what? Sorry, I'm afraid I don't speak specimen. Funny that, though. I've never met one of you that can talk plainly.”  
  
Masterson's cold smile shone from under his exhaustion-lined eyes as he held back the nailgun to his shoulder.   
The drab camouflage he wore seemed to blend into the gloom as he walked slowly after her as Hyphen began to run, skittering along the top of the great conveyor machine, wildly.  
  
“Go on, then. Run if you like – it makes it more interesting for me. It's always refreshing to see a bit of fear now and again, isn't it?”  
  
Laughing politely, he held a hand to the the outline of moustache stubble as if he were cracking a humorous joke with an old friend.  
  
“Please, please! I am not hostile! I am not your enemy!”  
  
Hyphen hissed behind her, and Masterson's response was to shrug.  
  
“That I've heard before, but the thing is, there isn't really anything alive that isn't my enemy. By the by, top left.”  
  
Feet skittering, her claws shot out and punctured the cold metal, sending sparks flying up into the air around them.   
From one of the omnipresent hook-chains that fell from the ceiling, a beast hung.   
It was compact and had no eyes, only ichor-spattered limbs, sharp and scythe like.  
  
It leapt towards her – and was cut down in a sea of nails.  
  
“Boom! Haha. Funny, look at the little fellow fall. Bet he didn't see that coming, did he?”  
  
Masterson tipped his helmet to her conversationally, and Hyphen shook, unable to contain her fear anymore.  
But of course, if he wasn't going to respond to her fear...  
  
“Oh, there we go – I can see it in your eyes – now you want to have a go at me, don't you? Don't worry, we've got hours of machinery around us in this hell; I think once one of us dies, it'll show me where the second of these precious little beauties is.”  
  
He reached for his ichor-spattered jacket, otherwise a drab mixture of olive greens and browns; and Hyphen cut him off with an orb of hurled fire that sizzled through the air and

      fell

                      sizzling

                                             harmlessly

                                                                      to the depths below.  
  
“Cheeky little boy, aren't you? Cutting me off like that, what an _awful_ thing to do. Hold on a minute, love. You've got to have patience, or you won't get anything in this rotten world.”  
  
Masterson tapped the bridge of his nose knowingly with the barrel of his gun – then placed it to his temple, laughing all the while.  
  
“Hmn, maybe I'll make it easy and pull the trigger for you?”  
  
Shaking once more, Hyphen took a step backwards – and her foot met with the darkness, and she scuttled back onto the metal overhang that was her lifeline.  
  
“Don't...”  
  
His smile vanished, turning into a slight frown.  
  
“... The fuck you on about? Should be damn happy with an offer like that. Ah, but the hell if I know; I guess it's back to business as usual. I have lots of nails, so don't worry about that – just keep running. I'm sure you'll run out of pipe eventually.”  
  
And she did run, occasionally compressing to a different pipe, or conveyor or even the chains above when she ran out of room to run – but there was no end, and Masterson rarely shot at her, content to just amble along as if the two were old friends.  
  
Occasionally, desperately, Hyphen would pause and hurl fire to his sloughed-off figure; but every time it was as if it had hit some kind of invisible pang in the midst of space, drifting at an angle that sent it gently tumbling into the yawning abyss beneath them.  
  
… And her legs were growing sore, and the pain of **compression** was beginning to pound the inside of her deeps, and she knew that it _wouldn't be long, soon..._  
  
“Gerald. I'm sorry. I'm sorry...”  
  
It was as if Masterson had been struck.   
His nailgun tumbled from his hands, and he struggled to catch it, fumbling in the cold darkness before snatching the trigger; sharp nails rocketed into the sky above, never hitting a ceiling; their metallic corpses simply arced down, down into the depths...  
  
“Hold on, Ger – Copeman? Is Copeman... Is Copeman alive?”  
  
She could not read his face.  
  
On that parchment-pallid skin were stretched too many emotions for her to comprehend, and all so fast; she flashes of happiness, anger, sorrow, resignation, and above all –   
Masterson flopped down to the stretch of pipe he had been pacing on, once more kicking his legs over the edge.  
  
The click as he slid the safety into place and placed the nailgun against his knees was as much a sign of armistice as anything he could do.  
  
“... Sorry, lad. I suppose I should be sorry, but I won't be. Not long. Fuck. I can't believe he's alive...”  
  
“You're – you are Masterson, are you not?”  
  
“Mmn. Damn, it'd be a sad fuck like Copeman that'd befriend one of the monsters here. Did he teach you to speak?”  
  
Hyphen chittered, not replying, not sure of how to reply.   
She had no desire to tell the truth to him, nor a good understanding of whether or not that was a _good idea_ ; and yet, he suddenly seemed harmless, as if all the energy and determination and hatred of before had just melted away, leaving only the sad remnants of a man, sitting upon empty and useless pipes in this dead factory...  
  
“In a manner. He does not hate you.”  
  
“... 'Course he doesn't. Fuck. Fuck me...”  
  
Masterson's head slid into his hands and she could see nothing but his dark gloves against his face, rubbing as if he might rub away his ability to feel, and ability to think...  
Finally, he removed his left hand, exposing a sad half-smile.  
  
“Sorry. Wrong fucking foot to make introductions, isn't it... Well. You know me. What the hell's your name, lad? You have a name?”  
  
“Hyphen.”  
  
“I asked your name, but – fuck it. Well, Hyphen. Where the fuck is Copeman? Don't tell me went and scarpered off, abandoning you, too?”  
  
“Nono. We were separated, the garden above – “  
  
“You mean the toxic pits?”  
  
“Nonono! There was a garden, a plaza! Above!”  
  
Masterson rubbed at his temple, sighing and shaking his head.  
  
“Right, well, maybe you don't understand basic terms, but there was a – a huge pit of sludge and ruddy awful poison I had to swim through to get here. Don't know how I managed, though I suppose it was the rune. You know anything about them..?”  
  
Already, her mind had returned to the feverish pitch she tried to keep it running at.   
Masterson had clearly come from a different place then they had, or had seen different things – and why, what did Elsewhere have to gain from keeping them so separate? For that matter...  
  
“They are alien to me, too. We are unsure what they do. If they have a purpose...”  
  
“Honestly, I can't tell if it's bringing me good luck, or just taking up space. Bloody thing – talks to me, sometimes. I've been – losing track of time, recently. And here I am, talking to a – a fucking demon...”  
  
“It isn't so bad. Now we can be friends..?”  
  
She offered cautiously, half-expecting Masterson to laugh and open fire.  
  
… He sighed again, and pulled his helmet over his face.   
All she could see was his frown, long and somber.  
  
“Fucking told you I don't have any, didn't I... Suppose I can help you find that useless Copeman, at least. I wouldn't mind – seeing his face, for a moment more. Forgotten what a human looks like, almost.”  
  
“I would like that. Do you want me to join you there?”  
  
“... Go on, then.”  
  
His answer was dismissive, but not hostile. It was definitely the last **compression** she would make for awhile; her legs felt wobbly and out of kilter, and she was already exhausted from running around so much, before.   
If Masterson had wanted, it would've been no trouble at all for him to simply push her into that yawning abyss...  
  
“Right, well – lead on. You probably know this place better then me, don't you?”  
  
“No – it is quite unknown to me. We have been – I hope one day we can leave it.”  
  
“I see, it was more of a scenic bypass on your way to Earth?”  
  
Masterson spat into the void, running his arm over his lips.   
Strands of saliva stuck to the mixture of ichor, dirt, and sweat that coated his camouflage fatigues, and she was careful not to betray herself by fixing too many of her eyes on his...  
  
Though there was no way _he_ could read _her_ expression... Right?  
  
He smiled an unpleasant smile, and her deeps shuddered.  
  
“Don't mind me. Just voicing my own thoughts – and nothing more. But I'm right, aren't I?”  
  
“... **Isn't yours, in the first place.** ”  
  
Hyphen murmured coldly, unable to stop herself.  
  
“Fuckall if it is. We fucking earned it with blood and metal, lad. We'll fight to keep it. But, ah, since we're losing, I suppose it doesn't fucking matter in the end.”  
  
And Masterson laughed kindly, and she realized what a gigantic mistake she had made.  
  
“Pleasepleaseplease do not say anything – “  
  
He held a finger to his lips – then reached over with sandpapery hands that were still, to her, immeasurably soft – and stroked her head, kindly.  
  
“Don't worry, lad. Our little secret.”  
  
… Laughing, he walked down the pipe, arms out to protect his balance.  
It would be easy to push him, and Hyphen considered doing it – but he had spared her, after all. It would not be right.  
  
But she _could._ And it would _feel_ right, and that was the difference.  
  
She fought down the simmering resentment within her, and scuttled along on after Masterson, loping beside him on all fours.   
  
Eventually, the pipe ended at a wide and off-grey wall that rose above them, covered in illegible graffiti.   
The graffiti clearly had advertised various products or services, once; but whatever those had been, the words and pictures had become worn and defaced with age.   
Masterson stared at them from behind his raised hand, shielding him from a glare that did not exist.  
  
His pursed lips were drawn tight as he whistled.  
  
“Bloody same as it always is – no way forward, and no easy way back. One day, the world'll be satisfied with breaking us, and that'll be that. No more puzzles, and no more worries. And won't that be a fan-fucking-tastic little treat?”  
  
“No. I do not want to leave this place until I know its purpose. I want revenge. Also.”  
  
“... Well now, aren't you a bloodthirsty little beastie, lad? Don't be so hasty. There might be a greater purpose here for the both of us, though I can't see what it'd be. Honestly – I'm just trying to hang on to what I, to what I... Hrmn.”  
  
Masterson tapped the wall twice – as blood began to drip from the crevices within. He laughed, smacking it once with his gloved fist...  
  
Then striking it mercilessly, repeatedly, laughing all the while.  
Finally, he pulled back his slightly limp fist, shaking it free of blood and chunks of artificial siding; the tile slide back and to the side, exposing a cavernous and pulsing hallway that reminded her fondly of home.  
  
“Go on, love. You first.”  
  
He bowed low to her, eyes as narrow as his smile was wide.  
  
She responded by rising to her full height, which rose over him – and bowing low and elegant, like she had seen, a little before this all began.  
  
Masterson's eyes bulged out, but he betrayed little more then a brief chuckle.  
  
“Damn, well, you're just full of surprises, lad. Fine, I'll go first. Only, if you poke me in the back, I'll fucking kill you – so let's not do that, shall we...”  
  
They were silent as they walked into the beating hallways, the fleshy exterior of the wall pulsating with a comforting warmth. The skein of skin around them was clearly in its gestating phase; whatever was growing there would not be finished until soon.   
She could smell the scent of the deeper void around her; these had been lain some time ago, and left incomplete.  
  
“Many of my kin have been lost here too. Maybe. I do not know...”  
  
She confessed, and he nodded – having removed his helmet to palm at his black-grey hair.   
  
“It's awful. I suppose it's awful to you too; how amusing that a place like this ends up being awful to the both of us, isn't it? Ah, well. Can't expect the powers that be to make a pleasant little fairy-tale romp with cottages and beer gardens, now, can we?”  
  
Her response was a hiss into the empty air.   
Masterson sighed and rolled his eyes, replacing his helmet with a murmur about being 'fucking underappreciated,' but she hadn't been directing it at him.  
  
She could feel them, crawling within the walls.   
Whatever they were, they were vast – much vaster then any of the creatures they had encountered so far. And though she could not determine what they were, they were alien to her – and long and thing, and felt as if they were interconnected and interjoined with something much deeper, and they terrified her...  
  
But there was no need to vocalize any of that.  
  
“I do not know what a beer garden is. It sounds intriguing.”  
  
“Lad, if Copeman hasn't taken you for a few drinks, I've taught him absolutely nothing. Listen – when we make it out of this place, I'll personally treat you; you can get to know a few serving girls in those funny little dresses – that's why you invaded after all, innit? Har, har, har.”  
  
Was he – laughing at himself?  
  
Not for the second time, Hyphen shivered.  
Masterson had come to a complete stop, staring off into the pulsating and writhing morass of flesh as if it were a beautiful vista – or if he could see nothing at all.  
  
Without warning he fired a few rounds into it; the nails sticking in the mess of skin, but doing no damage and seemingly unaffected themselves.  
  
“Odd. Pity for the waste but – “  
  
She knew that the skin would absorb them before, of course; he'd just given it more matter to be woven into the biomass, cold metal or no.   
But watching his horror spreading across that otherwise cold face, so very human...  
  
Part of it was satisfying to the most unpleasant side of her.  
  
“Do not be so careless. Who knows what might happen, in a dark place like this... _**AHAHAHAHAHAA!** ”_  
  
“Jesus, fucking – fucking hell. Don't loom over me like that, or I _will_ kill you. I'll kill you here, and I won't...”  
  
But the balance had changed, and they both knew it, even as Masterson trailed off and they continue walking down the rest of the corridor – in silence.  
  
The door at the end was vast and white and gleaming, unscathed metal; and it opened into what seemed to be a gigantic meatlocker, emptied of all but a few overhanging hooks.   
Masterson hummed, disappointedly, slinging his improvised weapon over his back and staring wistfully towards the ceiling above them.  
  
“You know, it'd be too much to hope for a side of steak, wouldn't it...”  
  
“Do you think familiar things here are even what we think they are?”  
  
She chittered quickly in a response, tripping over her words.   
Masterson fixed her with a glower that said what he thought of _that_ perfectly well, and she repeated the question – a little more slowly, and a little more clearly.  
  
“Do you think the things here... The ones that we _think_ we know... Are really what they _seem?_ ”  
  
He chuckled bitterly.  
  
“Tell you what, lad. Maybe all the world is an illusion, and I've gone utterly mad. I've thought about the idea, now and again. Maybe I'm talking to Copeman, or Copeman's corpse, and I'm just – I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of it. I don't know when my time'll end. Are you fucking happy...?”  
  
And his face was overshadowed by the gentle sway of the hooks, shifting as if there were a light breeze – though no breeze reached the frightfully cold chambers they stood in.  
  
“... I'm... Fucking happy.”  
  
His grin split his cheeks as he laughed – and she laughed too, and they both laughed together.  
Finally, he clasped her shoulder with his black glove, seizing it tightly.  
  
“God am I sorry I nearly offed you, Hyphen. Fucking good man, you are. I'd have been bored out of my skull searching this shithole alone, and now it stands I've got someone who really gets me. Wonder which of us'll make the next move, first!”  
  
“Who can say! I think though – you'll be fine when you _return home_.”   
  
And something about her words surprised even her; not for what she said, but for his reaction to it. The idea of returning home, said with seriousness – with optimism – seemed to terrify him for a brief moment.   
Masterson shook as if she'd pointed out a specter behind him, then quickly pulled himself together with a dismissive shrug.  
  
“'Course I will. I've lived this long, haven't I? You don't bloody fall into a pit like this and wallow in your own shit without coming out of the experience a little stronger – or so I tend to think. But tell me, Hyphen – what about you? How're you going to feel, getting out of this sty?”  
  
“... Maybe I shall stay right here.”  
  
She laughed, chittering, and he rolled his eyes again – knocking down the only other door in the room. It had been reinforced on the other end, with bits of wood and metal.   
It was doubtful some other entity had put them there; Elsewhere simply _was._  
  
But Masterson didn't yield to anything, and soon the door, metal and all, was so many indents and splinters.  
  
“Lovely, well. What DO you make of THAT...”  
  
He whistled, and she felt her voice leave her, too.   
Masterson had practically whistled with every word, and she could see why; vast fields of golden-paved road stretched in every direction over silver-strewn hills; great windmills rose into the distance, turning softly even with the utter absence of a breeze.  
  
… Masterson strode up to one, lips downcast, and stuck his hand to one of the gently spinning blades.   
It was too slow to pose any danger, but it seemed as if he might cry for a moment.   
He placed his forehead against the spinning wheel, the click of his helmet resting against it just audible against the whisper of their spinning.  
  
“... Always loved windmills. Quaint, not really practical. Less you're a farmer, I suppose, or some kind of luddite. And here they are, just – here. For me, I think. God. I... I fucking hate this place. I fucking hate...”  
  
He was trying to hide his tears from her, but she could see them trickle down from his helmet, staining the golden-paved road around them.  
Cautiously, Hyphen stepped behind him and placed her hand to his back – it arched, but he didn't move away.  
  
“... Don't look at me too long. I can't stand your pity.”  
  
She gently hissed her response, and perhaps he understood that; no, perhaps they understood each other all too well.  
  
So – instead, she wandered to one of the other windmills, which stood on a field of cast silver.  
And she wondered if you could ride such bizarre creations; if one day, she and Gerald might lie on one, and be carried skywards, to enjoy the warm sunlight and a picnic of meats and iron and coffee...  
  
“Hyphen. What the hell is that...”  
  
Masterson's hoarse cry brought her back from her dream as something came hurtling towards them, roaring with the force of a hurricane.   
Windmill after windmill was ripped from the ground and thrown into the angry sky, and it was all she could do to skitter in front of Masterson, throwing her arms up in another failed attempt at protecting herself, and perhaps protecting him –  
  
And then the storm was upon them, as in the distance she could see something vast and terrible walking through the blades of solid air, the open wounds in its white flesh seeming to have no effect on it at all...


	24. E3M5 - In the Valley of Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do not think of myself as a hero. Humanity does not need heroes.  
> It needs those who are willing to sacrifice, yes – but if you are doing it because you want something...  
> Ah, glory, or perhaps notoriety...  
> You are nothing. And your memory will be forgotten, as all the rest are.  
> But the alternative – is that a kind of eternity...?  
> ~

He fell.  
  
Gerald knew he was dreaming, and in his dreams he knew he was falling. The sensation of being able to perceive his battered form tumbling down the maze of pipes below was visible to him as if from a great distance, and a greater height...  
  
But his dreams were about simpler things, snippets of sensation. A kind of candy, spun and woven, that tasted like clouds.  
He remembered liking it; the sun, which was hot. Wasn't it...  
The warm way soil grew around him, and his body buried into it, seeking warmth, and fire...

He realized as his right eye split open, frantically darting to and fro, that his left wouldn't.  
The bruise against it was swollen, yet painless – and, of course...  
  
He was alive, once more.

[Prying himself from the cold ground as he hated the way it was kissed with dew – ](http://vehicles.ambient-mixer.com/space-station-hydroponics)  
  
The ground was cool, and the dew was fresh, and gently whispering grass greeted him, though he could not smell the scent of it; he seemed to have broken his nose.  
  
Managing to crook his neck upwards, Gerald was nearly blinded by the onrushing blast of hot air, followed by a gentle shower from what appeared to be a vast sprinkler system, powered from some unknown source.  
  
Both felt pleasant, save for where they hit his many bruises, wounds, and – was that bone..?  
Wincing, he managed to pry himself to his feet, unsteadily and very aware of how many times he'd repeated the gesture; the aches and pains threatening him that his willpower, alone, was not enough; would not be enough.  
  
If this continued to happen...  
  
Around him, the artificial rain fell upon furrow after furrow of plants.  
They reminded him of something, though his memory had been troubling him as of late – and he payed them no mind, save...  
Bending down, and with a bit more effort then he would have liked, Gerald pulled a carrot from the soft, burnished-brown soil.  
  
The carrot was a deep and beautiful orange, and he ate it greedily.  
  
Soon he was wallowing amongst the earth, pulling vegetables from the ground and devouring them with a hunger borne of exhaustion and a need to do something, anything, rather then feel pain.  
  
Hyphen wasn't here; he'd seen her twist and blow away, and...  
  
Shutting his eyes, he gulped down bits of shallot, minced between his teeth.  
She'd be fine – had to be fine. They'd been through so much. There was no point.  
  
No point at all – and he continued to gorge himself, paying no heed to the machine-fed breezes above him, tempered with soft rains...  
  
Finally, his exhaustion began to drift away and Gerald forced himself to take stock of his situation.  
This seemed to be some sort of vast, subterranean greenhouse; though, of course, if it had an original inhabitant, or inhabitants... They were likely gone.  
  
Or perhaps it was what fed the organic entities he'd seen? It wasn't impossible that some of them, at least, needed food.  
But did the ogre-creatures or the floating gasbags seem capable of operating heavy machinery, and repairing a place like this...  
  
Sighing, he stepped free of the water – which had began to become tiresome in its regularity.  
The chamber was designed to create the illusion of an open area, even though the vast and quivering folds of a tarp, or something like it, hung and shimmered in all directions.  
He could probably tear through it, if he had to.  
  
But perhaps there was a door, somewhere?...  
  
For the first time, the rune was entirely silent – as if something in this place stilled it, or it was simply content.  
Either was fine – relying on it too much didn't seem dangerous, exactly, but neither was it something he _wanted_ to do.  
  
“... We meet again. Did your companion abandon you?”  
  
He recognized Manon's voice before he saw her, shaking his head even as he turned to greet her.  
She did not have that terrifying electrical weapon pointed at him; and he was glad that she, at least, didn't seem to display the capriciousness of Masterson.  
  
“No. We were – separated. There's a chamber above, a garden – “  
  
“Do not lie. I am quite tired of that. It was another crypt – like all the others. For me, they blend together.”  
  
He was silent, unsure of how to respond.  
Manon's face was lined with bitter disdain, and he could imagine that the tombs she had visited, she had left deserted for all save the restful dead.  
But he knew what he had seen – and it had not been a tomb, at least not the portion of it they had passed through.  
  
“I'm not lying, but you can make your own call, there. I'm glad you're safe.”  
  
She smiled, a little.  
  
“Thank you. I am unused to conversation down here, but the sentiments are returned. Are the foods here edible, or... Do they become some kind of, monstrosity...”  
  
He assured her that they were fine, and she fell to the ground and began eating.  
It was impossible to tell how old she was, but he imagined it was at _least_ a bit older then himself; and he wondered when she'd been sent over, and how long she'd been trapped here –  
And how long he'd be trapped in here, if nothing else happened...  
  
“You have a question. I can tell. Ask it.”  
  
“When they sent you here – “  
  
She nodded, peeling the flesh of some peculiar earthen vegetable away with a combat knife.  
  
“Ah, yes. It was, I think – before your invasion must have started in proper. We knew it was coming, but – ah, it was the... The nineties, I think...”  
  
“The nineties...”  
  
Gerald mumbled hoarsely, and she nodded – sinking her teeth into it, before glowering at the sprinklers above.  
  
“Yes. I began to think – perhaps all of this is preordained. Perhaps some kind of population control, and the powerful shall retreat to domed cities beneath the earth, or – or I do not know. It is terrible, though. And we are just pawns.”  
  
“I – I see...”  
  
“Do not let it drive you to despair, however. If we succeed, we have helped countless lives. We must succeed – for their sakes. God willing...”  
  
“Yeah, God willing.”  
  
He wasn't entirely certain that he felt it was the right invocation to make, being mildly pious himself, but – ah, perhaps he really _wasn't_ anymore... Ack.  
A mixture of a luminescent blush and a strange, nervous laughter overwhelmed him – but Manon had the decency to only look mildly bemused.  
  
“Do you want an escort? This place seems – peaceful. But of course, looks can be deceiving...”  
  
“Yeah, please. I'm not much of a fighter.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“... I don't believe in it. If – if there's going to be a world that deserves saving, and people who have to fight for it, I believe it's just important that there are people who, who don't fight for it, uh, or fight – in different ways. Without fighting.”  
  
It sounded disjointed and weird, out loud, but she nodded.  
  
“Mmn. Perhaps so – in another life, I would've agreed with you. But such are the cards we're dealt. Okay, all right. Get your things, and allow me a minute... How do you think we leave this place?”  
  
He'd only just started to explain his thoughts to her when the roar of lightning tore down the quavering canvas exterior of the greenhouse.  
Her smile, was fearless and full of life – and light.  
  
Perhaps she had acclimated to this place in her own way...  
  
But he did not much care for the exuberance with which she watched the canvas shake, shriek, and deflate to the ground.  
  
“Well, well, well. Freedom is easily earned, it seems. Come, Copeman. Perhaps we should burn what is left here – if it is a resupply for these demons, I feel it best they feast on ashes.”  
  
“... All right, sure.”  
  
He didn't like the idea, but felt opposing it – and her – was beyond him. She torched the fields with an unspoken glitter of glee in her eyes – brown reflecting red and orange as she watched the quivering flames with a wistful sigh.  
  
“Such is fate, I suppose. Now – where did you say you grew separated from your... Companion?”  
  
“What?”  
  
He'd only just registered her mild distaste, because the question was unusual in the oddness of Elsewhere; someone caring about where and Hyphen had gotten lost – and trying to reunite them...?  
Wracking his brain, he pointed upwards – and as Manon snorted, he tried to remember where he'd fallen, and divine where, precisely, that might have taken Hyphen...  
  
Outside the greenhouse was some kind of storage facility.  
Huge boxes made of alien materials – ah, perhaps the crates he had seen in various parts of Elsewhere – where all but everywhere, some filled with vacuum-sealed foodstuffs.  
  
Most, however, were empty.  
  
“Seems as if this place was abandoned in quite a hurry, was it not...”  
  
“Yeah. If only we had a map.”  
  
“I tried to keep a map, the first year or so – but the geography changed so frequently, and the device lead me to such different places and times... Ah, it was impossible.”  
  
A rueful smile crossed her lips, and Manon chuckled again.  
  
“But what can you do about that, ah? I choose to see it as a challenge, and a proof of my own hardiness. Without such a map, you and I have survived in our own way. Perhaps the struggle shall grow harder, but – we're alive.”  
  
Gerald nodded, lips determinedly set.  
  
“Yeah. Yeah we are. And as long as we're still alive, there's hope – for all of us.”  
  
The most noteworthy feature of the newly-revealed boxing facility was what seemed to be a machine the size of what could've been a small factory, back on...  
  
_Uh_...  
  
Gerald's brow knit itself into loops, and he fought off the beads of angry sweat forming as he desperately fumbled for words to explain the blue-green place he was thinking of.  
He knew you'd call it earth, but what was the name of the planet..?  
  
“Copeman. Is your mental, ah... Are you all right?”  
  
“Fine, fine. Lost my thought – I think. Thanks for asking, though. What do you – uh, what do you thnk about that factory, over there? Or the building that looks like a factory, for all we know it's another tomb.”  
  
His joke didn't make her laugh, but she did proffer him another slight smile – then stared upwards at the factory with careful, appraising brown eyes.  
  
“Unlikely. I think when we break through to places like this, it is an error in the system that controls this place. Since it seems to want us in places it can stack the odds, tight corridors and closed spaces...”  
  
Raising her right hand behind her, she indicated the garden they'd left.  
  
“I came from, hmn, a space at the edge of that garden.”  
  
“Was there a device there?”  
  
“Not when I arrived, no. There was a kind of heavy hang in the air, that bite that you feel when there should be one, but...”  
  
“Gotcha. I think that sometimes, the devices are destroyed, but mostly, they just... Aren't, after awhile. That's how it was explained to us, at least.”  
  
“It was the arctic team that was the lucky ones. Their ships could tunnel through it, use Elsewhere like a slingshot – or so I hear. But at the time, it was just a brave little theory, and the Kingsteen/Toivo device was to be our savior...”  
  
Her rueful grimace made it clear that she had no desire to discuss the subject further, even though his stare must have made his curiosity obvious.  
  
She knew about those crafts? Had that been the arctic mission Masterson had mentioned, but if that was the case, how did she know of it?  
Where – and what – had the arctic mission been attempting to accomplish, to travel...?  
  
“Well – uh, what do you say we try exploring that factory, or factory-shaped tomb-facility?”  
  
It wasn't what he wanted to ask, but as she gave a half-hearted shrug and began trudging towards it, he felt all but certain it had been the right answer.  
  
Never, however, would he get used to the explosive thunder of Manon's projector-emitter as it melted steel, or steel-like metal, as if it weren't metal - but perhaps kindling in a vast fire.  
She paused after the new 'door' fell to the ground, jamming a cannister of something blue and phosphorescent into the anterior of the emitter...  
  
“I carry several reserve weapons, but I am most fond of this because the ammunition is plentiful. The power is nice, of course. But to be caught unarmed in such a place is death.”  
  
She laughed, very quietly.  
  
“I call him Stormbringer.”  
  
And he desperately wanted to avoid grinning like an idiot, but she must have seen it, for they both said nothing; even if it was an approving, _knowledgeable_ nothing.  
  
“Still – you cannot rely on any one weapon in here. In Elsewhere. Is it your – your companion that does most of the fighting?”  
  
“I think I've said as much, but – “  
  
“No, I am not judging you. The reason I ask is more an attempt to better understand how you think. I cannot afford you weighing me down in a fight, but I do not wish to make you fight worse by, ah... Micromanaging your actions.”  
  
He nodded – it seemed a fair approach, and though he wasn't really planning on fighting in the first place...  
  
The interior of the factory looked as if it had once been used to produce machines.  
Great machines, maybe tractors – or tanks.  
Maybe this was the equivalent of the civilian factories back home, and it supplied some unseen consumptive part of Elsewhere..?  
  
“Hey, hey, woah! Manon! What if we built a tank?!”  
  
She didn't dignify his idea with a response, but – if Hyphen were here, between the two of them...  
The idea burned brightly and refused to die, so he forced it away – for now. A tank, in Elsewhere..!  
  
“Peculiar – you'd think they would've died looking less pitiful.”  
  
Manon had knelt to the floor, and he walked behind her; she was examining the corpse of one of the brutish ogre-like creatures he'd seen before.  
The ones that seemed bred, or perhaps designed, for combat and specifically heavy-weapons duty.  
  
This one had no weapons. Both the familiar chainsaw and grenade-launcher were gone, either stolen, or perhaps not produced for its – for his? – use.  
  
And she was right – its face was creased with all the signs of terror. Widened, glassy eyes, mouth slightly open as if locked in some kind of scream, and the oddest pallor to its flesh – as if it had been the shock itself that killed it.  
  
“Well, we both know we're hardly the only ones here. It's not impossible to believe that something terribly bad is going around terrorizing the other beings of Elsewhere. Maybe – maybe we survived because we're lucky enough not to have encountered it.”  
  
“Tsch, not exactly a pleasant thought... I cannot discount it, though. Hold a moment. What do you say about those stairs, to our northwest – “  
  
At this point, the clatter of boots against steel was becoming second nature to him, probably to both of them.  
They passed open windows that held screens, and the screens projected images of sunny, normal days; but the images looked as if they had been drawn, perhaps by a small child.  
  
“... D'you think it was that brute that drew those?”  
  
Gerald managed, and Manon shut her eyes, trying not to smile.  
  
“With fists like that – my father was a fishmerchant, he had huge hands. I do not think he could draw well; perhaps, like him, they have hidden talents... Oh.”  
  
Her eyes lit up, and she raised a hand to indicate silence – then gestured forward with two of her fingers, and, and _then_ her fingers did an intricate blitz of information that he had no clue how to interpret.  
  
Deciding that a silent nod was the best response, he waited.  
Manon kicked down the smaller and completely unreinforced steel door, and it knocked back a waiting beast – one of the brutes, which didn't even register surprise.  
  
Surprise still hadn't crossed its face, if it could even feel that emotion, when she drew a heavy revolver from her side and shot it between the eyes, twice.  
The corpse made an awful 'thunk' as it fell to the floor.  
  
Manon stepped over it lightly before waving him forward, looking satisfied.  
  
“And here must be where they gather to play cards and smoke...”  
  
She murmured, but it was clearly not a breakroom; the interior of the small area was slathered red, though he wasn't certain that the color was blood; it seemed too bright, and had none of that stale smell he'd once been able to identify all too readily.  
  
There was, however, all too much flesh lying in crates around the room.  
Some of it had been gnawed on, and some of it was untouched, and all of it was unidentifiable.  
  
Whether it came from human, or beast, or even their fellow creatures...  
It was all just food, now.  
  
There was also a pull-elevator down, and Manon entered it without sparing the containers a second glance; perhaps she was used to such sights by now, though the thought still made him a little nauseous –  
  
_But not as much as it had,_ whispered his mind, quietly. _[And soon, not even that.](http://rpg.ambient-mixer.com/fantasy-dungeon-shaft)  
  
_ As for the pull-elevator, it was easy enough to get started. Between Manon and himself, all you had to do was pull the rope and wait...  
And it was almost relaxing to simply let the minutes idle by, as one beam of metal drifted by another...  
  
Manon balanced her arms against the elevator as he continued to lower it.  
  
“... Are you – what do you know about it. About her.”  
  
“She's very important to me.”  
  
Gerald frowned.  
The rope felt comforting even when it dug into his fingers – so he focused on that.  
  
“Go on.”  
  
“I guess – she's from another place. Not here. Her people got lost here, most of them died, maybe all of them. She's a scientist, in her people's place. Deimos.”  
  
“Did she say that...”  
  
It wasn't an accusation, but –  
He pulled the rope a little harder then necessary.  
Thankfully, the elevator was surprisingly well-made, and there was no visible sway to his little misstep.  
  
“Yes. That's exactly what she said. I'm inclined to believe her; we've been through a lot, and if – if she wanted me harmed, in _any_ way, she's had ample opportunity.”  
  
“Do you know, I believe that. That's not what I'm trying to understand... Go back a moment. I mean to ask – do you think she could have a reason for protecting you?”  
  
The question was blunt, like Manon.  
And it's honesty did bring him pause, even as the wonderfully relaxing monotony of manual labor prevented him from becoming too uncomfortable.  
  
_Could_ Hyphen have an ulterior motive?  
Of course she could – in a way, his motive was ulterior to her, if her people were invading for any reason. And she must knew that; even if he couldn't understand it, exactly, her mind was pretty rational...  
  
For a Deimon, or demon, or whatever it'd be –  
  
“I... I guess so.”  
  
He conceded.  
  
Manon frowned, and removed her helmet.  
Her brown hair was cut very short, almost to the point of being shorn.  
But somehow, he imagined it had been long, once.  
  
“... Sorry for my questions. I suppose I don't trust either of you, or anyone. Not too easily, at least. But I would like to, and to do so...”  
  
He saw the back of her shoulders move upward, and her fingers roll back against short-shaved hair.  
Then her helmet was back on, she had turned in her place, and marched back towards him.  
At the very least, she was smiling.  
  
“You've done quite enough of that. I'll trade for a bit.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
He smiled, deeply – his muscles, already sore and bruised and forced to their limit, had just began to reach the edge of what he'd felt comfortable doing.  
And though he was once again a little surprised with just how quickly he seemed to have bounced back from having every bone in his body bent or broken...

It was his turn to lean against the rail.  
There was nothing to see, of course, but he shut his eyes and imagined that he was watching the sun set; any sun, even alien and unknowable; even if was conjoined to another star, and they shone a multitude of lights against the falling elevator.  
  
“What will you do when we return home, Manon?”  
  
She laughed, bitterly at first – then grew silent.  
  
He continued to stare over the ledge of his mind. He could almost make out the fields, and decided that they would be a gentle, deep-forest green.  
The earth would be rich, and loamier then the soil in the greenhouse they'd passed; and he and Hyphen might walk, and rest atop it...  
  
“I would like to – to go back to how things were before.”  
  
Manon whispered, and he knew it would not be kind to look back.  
  
“... Yeah. I used to think so, too.”  
  
Perhaps his answer wasn't exactly kind, either, but it was kinder, and she understood it.  
  
“What a terrible place, this Elsewhere, to have such a hold on us – _ah?”_  
  
Something below them had grabbed the elevator.  
He had only had a time to open his eyes before the hiss of metal and steel cables ripping free tore into his eardrums, the sparks above flying fast and free.  
  
Then they were tumbling, freefalling down along with the elevator.  
  
Manon had already dropped to the floor, projector at her back.  
She motioned for him to do the same, but he was halfway up into the air; grappling, he manged to find purchase on a bit of the rapidly dwindling cable, and pull himself to the floor.  
  
The metal exterior they'd taken turns staring off into was rapidly fading away, being replaced with an almost pastoral sight – all kinds of windmills, decorated in fine metals as if it were some trophy village crafted by an obsessive and reclusive antiquarian.  
  
He'd have smiled at the sight if the ground hadn't met the elevator with a thundering crash.  
Their position and the floor absorbed most of the shock, but the beams and cables tottered over – slowly enough to do no real damage, but he could feel one sink onto his leg, and bit back pain.

… Still, a disaster that might have killed him before had only wounded him. Manon pulled him to his feet, and they dusted themselves off.  
Pacing around him in circles, she cast her eyes around for something that must be waiting nearby – and yet whatever had plucked the elevator and hurled it down with such strength, it had vanished with a speed that matched its strength.

“Damnation...”  
  
Manon whispered, not shouldering her weapon.  
  
“Okay. Listen carefully, we shall go forward in a square. Ah – a two-person square. Don't attempt to engage anything on your own, Copeman... Copeman?”  
  
Gerald felt one foot drift in front of the other, almost unintentionally.  
It was like he was being called, and his eyes began to roll upwards; beholden to the inside of his skull.  
  
Images, beautiful and profane, danced back and forth in the empty space of his mind.  
  
Around them, despite there being no wind...  
  
The wind began to roar, and pick up, ripping mosses from the ground and tiles from the windmills around them.  
Then, the windmills themselves began to roar, and twist, and dirt and minerals alike began to pull free from the ground, rolling towards some distant epicenter...  
  
But they did not, for whatever was doing this either had no pull over them – or wanted an audience.  
  
From out of the roaring storm, he saw it – white as the snow that had fallen around the arctic wastes, coated with a tremendous and shaggy fur that obscured all but its blood-coated fangs.  
  
It stared at the two of them, opened them – and roared, soundlessly, the very noise itself engulfed by the peal of thunder, and the howl of the gale.  
  
And the last child of the old goddess yelled its final battle-cry.


	25. E3M6 - The Revenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each and every one of her million children was slain in front of her.  
> … Almost.  
> What mother wouldn't be angry?  
> But I hear she died, too – and with her, the hopes of whatever progeny might remain.  
> ~

[“Jesus fucking Christ, get down!”](http://weather.ambient-mixer.com/heavy-thunderstorm-for-me)  
  
Hyphen could hear Masterson yelling, even as she approached the vast beast that consumed the horizon.   
Its broad club-feet had been soaked with so much ruddied human ichor that they had been stained a permanent red, and its hands –   
  
Claws! Claws made only to render and destroy, wide enough that they could've sliced five of her asunder with one violent swing!  
  
\- Its claws were similarly dyed, and shimmered with sparks of blue lightning, echoing a challenge from within the heart of the storm.   
The beast moved slowly, shambling forward with one gigantic foot in front of the other, but with an incredible grace that belied its size; and it opened its mouth to yell and she stood, transfixed.  
  
Her shadow's shadow seemed miniscule in comparison to it, dwarfed by the matted fur of the beast.  
... And so, the imp stared up at the last great heir of Shub-Niggurath, and eight eyes met its eyeless maw.  
  
It roared in resignation, in **recognition,** and **hatred,** and swung it her with that all-consuming claw.   
Hyphen scurried out of the way, dodging both the leaping arcs of electricity and the thundering chunks of stone, of gold, and silver.  
  
She slid next to Masterson, who cursed, steadying his nailgun.  
  
“We're fucked.”  
  
But he'd never looked happier, as if the prospect of death had given him a hope that the entirety of his life had not; and perhaps it was so.  
... He nodded his head at her in acknowledgment, then whistled a refrain she could not recognize.  
  
“Guess I won't get to apologize in this life, sod it all. Well, lad, I'll see you in your cheery corner of hell. Hey! Fucker!”  
  
His challenge was devoured by the angry storm, and the great beast did not notice as Masterson stepped cautiously from behind the slowly rising windmill they'd used as cover. He was ignored, and that was the beast's mistake.  
  
Row after row of sharp and filed nails, less than the size of a human finger, and less noticeable still to the behemoth, cascaded towards it.   
At first the creature didn't perceive the tiny patterns of red lining its white fur – but then it stumbled and nearly fell as Masterson's hateful barrage continued, tearing through fur, and flesh, and bone.  
  
Wailing to the sky, the creature turned from where Hyphen had been hiding to face the tiny being whose manic grin stood in defiance of it.   
Masterson was casually reloading nails into the makeshift weapon as it held its hands together in front of it, and the storm broke; for a brief eternity, only silence reigned in the uneasy air.  
  
Then the hurricane force returned, and with it the hellish howl of a self-contained thunder, glistening from the tines on the creatures claws.   
Masterson's jaw dropped, and she remembered having seen the phenomena before – when she first arrived, on a creature so much smaller than this one...  
 _  
Perhaps this was that creature's long-postponed revenge.  
  
_ Her chittering laughter was drowned out by the roaring winds and the thunderclap as lightning arced towards Masterson.   
It coursed against his nailgun, up his spine, and should have left him a charred husk – but...  
  
The man, the demon, and the great shambler stopped, all lost in confusion.   
Masterson raised a hand to his head – he was bleeding heavily as if he had been stabbed, and yet still – here he stood.  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
Masterson whispered, stepping forward slowly, loading more nails as he continued to tear into the furless underflesh of the creature, having ripped its white-spackled armor from its hide.  
  
“Fuck you...!”  
  
Again the creature castigated him with its lightning.   
Masterson shook, and paused, and fell to his feet – but showed no signs of stopping.   
  
Something fell from his pocket, and she wondered at the significance of the people beside him.  
  
“FUCK YOU!”  
  
The lightning was so close to it, that its own electricity surged between Masterson and itself; and though it took no damage from its own lightning, so shocked was the creature at this brazen interloper that it took one great step back – and then another, and then tottered and fell backwards.  
  
Laughing, Masterson attempted to run forward – but his body spasmed, finally unable to ignore the currents arcing through him.   
He shivered, trembled, dropped his gun to the ground, and collapsed, shaking uncontrollably.  
  
Hyphen leapt to all fours and scurried forward as quickly as she could, charging into him and knocking him to the side as the great beast swatted at the ground where he had been moments before; crushing the dropped photograph between chunks of pulverized ground.  
  
Depositing the quavering Masterson behind chunk of uprooted stone, Hyphen rose to her full height and howled at her foe, all spikes extended.   
It paused, glad to finally face that which it **hated** beyond all else – and opened its mouth, and the mouth within its mouth, tendrils flaring out as it mirrored her roar.  
  
Then Hyphen stepped through the **compression** and was on its back, and she sank her elbowspike deep into the creature's exposed fur.  
  
Its fur was like armor, but cut easily enough – and though its hide was leathery, it was not leathery enough to protect it from the solid spikes of pure bone her body held.   
Chittering in amusement, Hyphen clung to the beast as it began to shake and flail, attempting to dislodge her from it.  
  
But it was too large, and despite its best attempts, there was nothing that the beast could do, short of attacking itself.  
So that is what it did.  
  
Hyphen rolled to the side, clinging to a patch of fur near its shoulder as the beast swung its metallic, red-stained claw into its own back, ripping huge patches of hide and skin free, and leaking a great tide of beautiful grey ichor.  
  
She desired to lap it up and taste it against her tongue, but now was not the time.   
Scampering up the entity's arm, she placed her hands to its wrist and generated as much fire as she could; and even in the howling wind, the fire stuck to its fur there, and clung greedily.  
  
It howled, whimpering in pain, and trying desperately to extinguish the painful flares that consumed its unprotected flesh.   
Lightning crackled along its skin, but where the electricity had been its ally before, now it merely fed the superheated plasma of her flames – and the two burnt as one.  
  
From far below, Masterson had regained enough presence to lob something forward.   
She had no idea what it was, nor what it had been – but knew enough to dislodged herself, **compressing** moments before she hit the ground, and reappearing next to him in a burst of steam and sulfur.  
  
The tiny sphere made a clicking sound and exploded moments after it had appeared to hit the beast and do nothing, rolling down to its chest.   
Its explosion itself had little effect, but with it came nasty bits of shrapnel that cut through skin and bone with impunity, sticking in wounds that bled into the surrounding gale.  
  
Once again, the beast roared – this time in pain.  
  
“... Well, lad, if that didn't do it...”  
  
Masterson murmured, eyes shut.   
He had a peaceful, gentle smile that seemed entirely at odds with the horrors surrounding them.  
  
Hyphen did not let the film overrun her eyes.  
She would not show this one any fear in her last moments.   
It would find no victory, here.  
  
The peal of distant thunder once again roared throughout the turbulent gale.   
But this time, it did not come from the creature itself; but from far away –  
  
From behind.  
  
It turned quickly, more quickly then she had expected with all of its wounds.  
Slowly striding towards it, Manon darted from building to building as her supercharged lightning dueled with its own; but where hers struck, the skin of the beast swelled, thickened, grew red, and finally...  
  
When the great beast's left leg slid free and it crashed to the ground, Hyphen thought that had finally been the end of it;  
But it roared in pain and refusal to the sky, and the sky seemed to answer it.  
Tendrils, vestigial and weak, burst from the ruined stump of its leg, carrying it back to its feet – however unsteadily.  
  
And there was no more room for Manon to dodge, the storm now having uprooted all the little windmills and model cottages.  
They hung in the air like a ghastly parade of human buildings – and as the creature howled, they began to hurtle madly in all directions, landing near Manon, and Masterson, and herself.  
  
One crashed into Hyphen's face, ripping the carapace from her cheek.   
Compared to all else she had been through, it was a minor pain – but she could feel the subchitin and skin screaming in agony, and had to force herself not to give it the satisfaction of a cry.  
  
Besides.  
  
 _Besides.  
  
_ Beyond it, she could see...  
  
“GERALD!”  
  
Her voice did not carry on the wind, but she knew – somehow, she knew that he could see her from this distance, and that he had heard her.  
It must have been impossible, or close – but she saw his head rise, the tiniest coppery tinges of his beard looking like dots against the horizon.  
  
And he came running, mouthing a single word.  
And she knew what it was.  
  
Manon had muttered something in a language that Gerald had little experience with; she understood it as a curse and nothing more.   
She'd switched her weapon, also; withdrawing a large handgun that looked almost ornate.  
  
She held it to the sky, and fired once.  
The creature stared at her, confused – as was Hyphen.  
What was the point of drawing attention to yourself...?  
  
And, smiling fearlessly, Manon emptied first one round – then another – five rounds into its open maw.  
  
Howling in agony, the creature's neck snapped back – and more tendrils burst from its secondary mouth, prying the first one open as they greedily devoured their own wounded flesh.  
  
The whole body of the creature was shivering and quaking, boiling from within as tiny flashes of lightning consumed its interior, and within that lightning moved broods of festering, line-like entities that desired nothing more then to be born...  
  
Hyphen ran forward, **compressing** again and managing to land, with some difficulty, against the shambler's first mouth.   
Wincing from the electrical hell of its breath, she held her open hands down through its gullet – and emptied fire into its chest.  
  
Within the shambler, the children it had been nurturing screamed, withered, and burnt to ash.  
  
Now the entity was making a strange and horrible sound that was as a symphony to her ears.   
She lay close to it so that it might hear her chittering laughter and know her victory, before **compressing** as it swung pointlessly towards her.  
  
Once more it warbled to the sky, but this time there was no response...  
At first.  
  
The howling winds began to die down, as Gerald's figure darkened and grew clearer against the horizon.   
Masterson's eyes widened as he recognized him, and he tried, clumsily, to rise to his feet – falling forward into the dirt and chunks of stone.  
  
And Manon simply watched, cautiously.  
  
For above them had opened the shining, purple-hued sky.  
Distantly above them shone countless stars, beautiful and white and brilliant; and they heard the distant call of their kin, and fell towards the ground in an inexorable march.  
  
At once a hail of frozen stone and burning metal crashed down in a shower above them; the bits of stellar rock unable to exist in this place without exploding into their component matter.  
  
One large stone caught Manon squarely in the gut; she flew backwards, limply, managing to rise just in time for a second piece of burning stone to slam through her back; its blood-soaked sharpness jutting through the limp figure it had impaled.  
  
Hyphen's eyes rose in circles of black – her mind reeling as blood and white bile leaked from Manon's mouth, and her torn stomach.   
Despite everything she had been through – seeing something so horrible, done even to one who had harmed her...  
  
“HYPHEN!”  
  
She could hear Gerald, now, even as she had known his cry before.  
The beast turned to face him, and she knew what she had to do.  
  
It was beyond her to **compress** any further; the void stung her deeps, and she knew that doing so would've torn her, the same way Manon was torn, the same way they would all be torn if she did not act, _now._  
  
So she ran.   
She ran, and scurried up the tree-like leg of the beast, clinging to fur matted with blood and ichor and heat-cauterized tendrils.  
Climbing as only she could, using her spikes and claws to cling where others would have fallen to their deaths...  
  
But it sung to her.  
  
She knew where it was.  
  
At once, the shambler and the imp locked their eyeless and eight-eyed gaze, for the second time.  
This time the shambler did not cry out, for it knew the outcome, and perhaps had always known it.  
Its multiple mouths opened in apprehension – and fear.  
  
Then Hyphen tore into its stomach, her claws shredding through leathery hide, and fur, and fat, and dead worm-children until she saw it, sewn into the beast's flesh.  
  
It glowed, purple and as a bolt of lightning, desperate to be found and desperate to be claimed...  
  
And she ignored it, tunneling past the rune through acrid digestive fluid until she could see the purple sky, once more.  
  
The beast tottered, falling around her, and she threw fire at the sigil, which slid from the protective wall of fat which had encased it and scattered on the ground, far away from her claws which had been so _close_ to it, but she knew had not _neeeded_ it.  
  
And Hyphen leapt from the falling creature, and watched as Manon, who was now clenching her right fist aimlessly, open and closed, and mouthing something she could not comprehend, beheld the tiny purple stone in front of her.  
  
“Please...”  
  
Hyphen whispered – and Manon took the rune in her outstretched palm.  
  
Beneath them, the ground trembled and roared – opening up into a vast vortex beneath them.  
Gerald charged into her, having run across the dying beast – his boots coated in its blood.   
She caught him tightly, and they embraced as the ground consumed itself; and the four of them and the dead beast were pulled into a trembling void below.  
  
[When she woke, they were deep beneath the earth once more.](http://fantasy.ambient-mixer.com/d-d-cave-river)  
No purple sky was visible overhead, nor could she see any sign of either Masterson nor Manon.   
Gerald was lying on top of her, fragments of gold and silver architecture lodged within the back of his freshly-pressed grey uniform.  
  
She immediately set to removing it, already feeling at home with the practice.   
His eye – which had become bruised, at some point, perhaps before this..? – opened slowly, and he grinned lopsidedly at her.  
  
“Guess we survived again, huh?”  
  
“Yes, yes. I was so – worried about you...”  
  
But she couldn't stay worried, because they were alive, and he was here.   
She'd wanted the rune of this place, out of curiosity and the sense that it was important, but; perhaps with it, Manon might live.  
  
 _Even though it didn't help you,_ her deeps whispered, but she ignored them.  
Perhaps they – bonded, somehow.   
Regardless...  
  
“I am sorry your new clothes were wounded.”  
  
“What about me? I feel like – ow – like this is becoming a habit....”  
  
“I am always sad. When you get hurt. I am sad when _anyone_ gets hurt.”  
  
“But not that beast, huh?”  
  
She stopped, her fingers halfway through one of his bloodier wounds.   
Cauterizing them was simple and logical enough, though she wanted to be careful not to overdo anything.   
He wasn't truly used to fire, not yet.   
And no matter how much you hoped for something – that was no reason to assume it to be so.  
  
“... **No.** We could be considered enemies without having met.”  
  
“Like oil and water, huh...”  
  
She nodded, unwilling to explain herself further.   
Thankfully – Gerald trusted her.  
Her smile came easily, even as inhuman as he must find it.  
The edges of her teeth pricked up the edge of her mouth; he trusted her...!  
  
“Did I say something nice, thought I was being nosy – owwww...”  
  
“Stop moving so much. You have such a weird body...”  
  
“That's not the sort of thing I want to hear, coming from you.”  
  
“My apologies. Do you think you can walk?”  
  
He rose to his feet with surprising ease, shooting her an odd gesture where he extended his thumb into the air.   
She returned the gesture, and he beamed.  
She liked it – when he did that.  
  
“Yeah, uh, heck yeah. I'm O. K. Not the best, but, riding the adrenaline. And I feel like – Hyphen, what you did there was the right thing. And incredibly brave, and stupid, and please don't _ever_ do something like that again.”  
  
“She would have died, otherwise. I would not have wanted. That.”  
  
Her eyes rose to the caves around them; they were comfortingly brown and drab, and looked – ordinary, compared to all the strangely-artificed landscapes they had traversed.   
No tombs lined the walls, nor torches nor crematoriums.  
  
These felt natural – so _perhaps it was already happening...  
  
_ “... Hyphen – thanks. I hope if I ever met one of your people, I can do the same.”  
  
“I know you would. Or try to, at least. You're truly...”  
  
Clutching her fingers to the air, she chittered instead of finishing her thought.   
He was watching her in embarrassed, happy amusement – the kind she wished to see every day.  
Soon. _Soon._  
  
“Don't praise me too much, or your crazy strength'll make me want to prove mine, somehow. Not right away, though – my muscles feel like they've been torn out and replaced. They – they probably have, uh, haven't they...”  
  
“Please don't think about that too much. Otherwise your mind goes... Weird places.”  
  
She knew hers did, at least.   
The first time she'd taken a blow that could've killed her, perhaps _should've_ killed her, it had returned to her within her dreams.   
She'd seen herself, dead and motionless on the ground, and been unable to suppress the image returning at odd hours...  
  
So she hadn't, and let it come as it would, and finally managed to learn to live with it – until it had not returned anymore.  
  
Her eyes filmed over, shutting, and she grabbed him tightly.  
  
The warmth of his skin was stronger now – increasing with the beat of his heart, a tiny fire that would only grow stronger, she was sure of it.   
She had to be sure...  
  
The fingers of his left hand drew in the air, then gracefully fell upon her neck, gently sliding up and down.  
  
“It's okay, Hyphen. I'm all right, and we're together again. And I – don't think we're going to be separated again. I don't know why but I feel it. Don't you?”  
  
And she did her best to hide the teeth of her smile, for after all –  
  
“I _know_ it.”  
  
He laughed, not understanding her wondrous certainty – but that was fine.  
  
They began to walk down the pleasantly dark brown caverns, her fire lighting the way for the both of them.   
She could just hear the sound of running water up ahead; perhaps an underground river, or a stream.  
  
Soon, they saw it themselves – a large and cool river was flowing throughout the cavern, its waters a brilliant and transparent blue.   
White foam crested at the top of it, and occasionally tiny lizards darted through its gentle currents.  
  
Unable to help herself, Hyphen hissed at it – and one of the small lizards extended its frilly coat, and hissed back at her.  
  
Stumbling backwards in surprised, Hyphen blushed a light orange as Gerald laughed at her – holding his hand to his face.  
  
“Do you – mind if I take a bath here? I promise it won't be long, but...”  
  
She nodded her assent, smiling, and spending the time watching him bath.  
It was a strange thing; his skin was so soft and smooth; it tore easily, and the wounds healed quickly, but with such terrible scars.  
  
… Leaning forward, she ran her fingers cautiously against one that tore from the crook of his arm to his waist.   
He raised an eyebrow, and she knew he was incredibly tempted to splash water her way; but thankfully, it seemed he was too kind to do so.  
  
So, she grabbed a slightly oblong rock and splashed some towards him.  
  
He laughed again, the water falling from his beard to the hair of his chest, and pooling between his tightly clenched knees.  
She wanted to join him, there – to sit in the water, or perhaps bathe with him.  
  
The inability to do so...  
  
Sighing, Hyphen mimicked his pose against the shore, though this time he did not notice, too busy washing the dirt and blood from himself.   
And she once again grew lost in watching him, and failed to notice the passing of time.  
  
When he turned to face her, she could see how exhausted he had become.   
Those bright blue eyes were lined with the same exhaustion that Masterson had – that Manon had.  
They would have to finish this.  
  
Soon. But soon they would.  
  
“... Hey there, beautiful.”  
  
Her eyes filmed over twice before she realized he was talking to her.  
  
A cacophony of chitinous warbles escaped her mouth before she finally managed to mutter a reply.  
  
“I'll return that. To. You. Hello there. Beautiful.”  
  
And she tried to bury herself in the dirt, but one of the lizards had already buried itself in the dirt, and even though it was very small and probably not sentient, she was fairly certain they all hated her.  
It made a tiny, tiny hiss that was as adorable as it was fierce, and kicked a bit of musty soil towards her face.  
  
Laughing to herself, she turned back towards Gerald – who was zipping up his uniform and staring off into the distance, though occasionally glancing at her with a pleasant smile...  
  
“Do you really mean that.”  
  
“I do. I was thinking about it a lot recently – I've been unsure about a lot of things.”  
  
He tasted the words, unsure of his own honesty; but it was like an addiction to her, even more then being praised for her strength.   
She knew she preferred the admission of his doubts, and perhaps overcoming them to keeping them within himself – and besides, if she was right, that meant...  
  
“But I think – yeah. To me, you're beautiful. I know I'm only attractive to you because of my exotic facial hair, but I've come to terms with that. Uh, by gum.”  
  
He laughed at himself, but she didn't really feel like laughing.  
It was pleasant to watch his eyes widen, exhaustion fading away a bit as she kissed him.   
And he didn't recoil or hesitate, and she could feel the warm skin of his lips pressed against her mouth – retreating to let her tongue dance playfully against them...  
  
Gerald licked his lips when she finished, as if searching for her – but she merely smiled enigmatically.  
And he did something, snapping his fingers and looking abashed; and once again it was adorable, and she wished that she might memorize it, forever – for as long as she would live.  
  
“Well, I guess we can't just stay here forever, can we?”  
  
“Unlikely. Have you noticed – anything?”  
  
She asked rhetorically, meaning one thing, but getting another – though she concealed her sigh when he responded with the obvious.  
  
“Yeah, I don't think anywhere we visit stays put long after we've collected the rune, there. I think we're – we're, uh, taking apart Elsewhere, bit by bit. I don't know how I feel about that, to be honest.”  
  
“Are you starting to feel. At home here?”  
  
“Haha – maybe. Yeah. A little.”  
  
And she concealed her smile, too, terribly well.  
  
“Well. You lead the way. I will let you be the captain, this time.”  
  
“My stars, my very own captaincy... I guess this is what they call rising through the ranks. All right, XO Hyphen.”  
  
“XO?”  
  
“Trust me, it means you've got a high position. So, uh! Follow me!”  
  
It didn't take long before a familiar shape rose towards them through the darkness; though the Kingsteen/Toivo device had clearly seen better days, this one having been colonized by a family of the lizards from earlier, who bristled and ran at their approach.  
  
Gerald sighed through his smile, and took her hand.  
They approached it together – and disappeared as the peaceful caverns they had strode through disappeared, forever.

 


	26. Sunspots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerald, you're telling me the company you worked for did a survey on what the earth would look like ten, twenty years without human inhabitants? And you're telling me this is the company that nominated you employee of the month?
> 
> Well of course, as your mother, I'm proud of you, but 
> 
> are you really happy here  
> ~

Yellow light overwhelmed them.

The yellow light consumed everything in the room: the decaying metal, the broken machines, and the barricades of rusted machineflesh around them.  
So ruined were the carcasses of metal that even the _idea_ of revisiting the Kingsteen/Toivo devices that had led to places they had visited seemed a distant impossibility.  
  
It pried away at his skull, slid under his skin, coated everything in bright yellow, and burned itself against the edges of his retinas, casting a crown against his vision even when he shut his eyes.  
  
There was no escaping the clear, yellow light –  
  
So he didn't try to.  
There was only one passageway left, after all.  
  
“Does it seem like... This is collapsing, as well...”  
  
“No question about it.”  
  
He responded to Hyphen, biting his lip.   
Not only was there only one passageway left – illuminated by the bright yellow light as it was, he could see clearly that it was fill to the brim with murky blue water.   
And there was no telling how far down the currents went...  
  
“Oh, oh. No...”  
  
“Just hang on to me, Hyphen. Or – wait, I've got an idea. I'll go down first, and you can come after me, okay?”  
  
“I... I...”  
  
She whispered, then slowly nodded her head.  
  
“Okay. We can do that. Please – don't leave me, here.”  
  
“I won't. Just wait for my call.”  
  
And he dove into the water –   
  
Nearly breaking his neck as he fell, facefirst, onto a wooden beam below.   
It gave way, sending him hurtling to the ground below that, which was thankfully not too far beyond.  
  
“Good news!”  
  
He yelled up to her, while fighting the wincing lances of pain his neck and side.  
  
“It's really incredibly shallow! Just be careful – it's suspended in air, somehow, and there's one heck of a drop...”  
  
She fell to the ground, shivering, next to him. Though Hyphen landed on all four of her feet, and he had to admire her poise, she looked more miserable even than when she had recovered from losing a good chunk of her carapace.  
  
And, for once, he could actually hear her breathing – desperately gasping for air as her entire body shook, and shivered.  
  
“I'M FINE. I'M FINE.”  
  
It was directed more to herself then to him, but he held her tightly – then began drying her off, as best as he could.   
Her breathing normalized, returning to an almost undetectable silence, as she smiled a little sheepishly.  
  
“It is okay. I truly am. Bad at holding my breath. It isn't really – even half-submerged is dangerous, so...”  
  
“Hey. Don't feel like you have to explain it to me. Once, when I was little, there was this cave. I can't recall why I was in it, but, that's how kids are. I think there was – something else in it, though I can't remember what it was. But for ages, hah, for ages I was afraid of caves, and the dark...”  
  
The story had lost a lot of meaning without the details, and Gerald frowned. Why _had_ he been in that cave? Had it been a bear, or a snake? Something else..?  
  
“Point is, being unable to breath is frightening. Almost as frightening as the possibility of losing you. I'm not going to ask you to do this again, if we don't have to. But hey – looks like our palace awaits, doesn't it?”  
  
The Kingsteen/Toivo device was just to the north of them – and this one looked fresh and new, as if it had been constructed for the express purpose of granting them the right of passage to wherever in Elsewhere they were headed next.  
  
… It almost looked, Gerald mused, as if it were the first such device built.   
It was missing a lot of the panels and terminals that the others had held, and more importantly –   
  
The device was surrounded by a metal-barred gate, with no apparent method of bypassing it or lowering it.  
  
“You've got to be kidding me... If we've come so far to be blocked by a shoddy piece of security... Do you think you can go on ahead, Hyphen?”  
  
“... I'm not going to leave you here. On your own! Not anymore, not again, not ever! Unless, uh...”  
  
She mumbled something unintelligible.  
  
“Hyphen – I promise that I'll let you know if I need to do something on my own, but otherwise, of course I want you by my side. Even if you can't open an awful metal gate that's thwarting our captaincy.”  
  
She smiled toothily, and he lay back, staring up into the water that was held by some invisible force directly overhead.  
There was nothing there that should have supported it, and yet – it was just floating there.   
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if it were – the order of things.  
  
This was Elsewhere.  
Maybe – just maybe – they'd be gone soon.  
  
To... Their homes? To his, to hers..?  
  
Yellow light clouded his vision as he closed his eyes. It was bright, brighter than the sun – and it impeded even his attempts to daydream about what the future might look like, when they had a future – the two of them.  
In the future he was imagining, yellow light ate away at the back of his skull, which ached...  
  
“Gerald..?”  
  
“Sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like – maybe it's finally catching up with me. All of this. All the fighting, the dying – the inability to, to...”  
  
Had he helped anyone here?  
  
All the creatures he'd fought, or let others fight – had there been some way around them that didn't involve violence, and for that matter...  
  
 _Did he truly_

_care_

_anymore..?_  
  
Yellow light gnawed at the back of his spine, and replaced the fluid it found there with yellow light.  
  
“It's not important, I don't think. What is important, is finding a way past that – oh.”  
  
As if set to some unknowable timer, the grate slowly began to open – then stopped, only a quarter of the way down.  
His unintelligible cursing had the upside of amusing Hyphen, at least.  
  
“You shouldn't – stop trying to, to alter... The way you swear. Or don't. It is very amusing.”  
  
“Oh, that – I don't really, you know, like to swear. Because – “  
  
And that was odd, too.   
Why _didn't_ he like to swear? Everyone did it, which made it normal and fine.  
There was some reason, but it was lost to yellow light.  
  
“Well, I just don't. Tell you what, though, Hyphen, I'll consider it if it's important to you.”  
  
“I like you the way you are.”  
  
She – was that concern?  
  
He hesitated, and the yellow light faded somewhat.  
There wasn't anything obviously dangerous here; he'd always thought of this antechamber as a safe place.  
No enemies seemed to come here, and though perhaps there were others traversing the Kingsteen/Toivo device, not once had they crossed paths in transit.  
  
Yet – what if there was something dangerous here, and it just wasn't an enemy that was visible..?  
  
“Thanks, Hyphen. Am I – acting unusual? Bad unusual?”  
  
She was dead silent.  
  
“A little.”  
  
Hyphen finally answered, and he held his hand over his eyes to block out the yellow light that was falling down on them from so far above, filtering through water perfectly levitated in air, as if the water itself couldn't contain the gleam of yellow, yellow light.  
  
Behind them, the gate lowered another notch; it was still too tight for them to crawl through, but he might risk it when it lowered next; there was something here that was causing him an incredible and deep-seated discomfort, and though he knew that he was associating it with something so far above them, he also knew that was the symptom...   
And not the cause.  
  
“... Okay, well, listen. Hyphen – I need you to, to make me a promise. If I start acting exceptionally weird like this again, outside of this room, uh...”  
  
She knelt forward, so that her head was just next to his.  
Eight eyes that shone darker than obsidian drowned out the yellow light, and she kissed him deeply.   
Her fingers draped themselves over his, and held them to the ground, and she did not pull back until she'd tasted his breath on hers.  
  
Finally, she spoke, and her voice was even and strong.  
  
“I promise. If you are frightened I will do that. Until you are not anymore.”  
  
“... Thank you, Hyphen...”  
  
Gerald whispered, feeling at the verge of tears.  
  
Up above, ordinary electrical lighting shone down upon them.  
  
He wiped the sweat from his brow, wondering when he had began to sweat, and took a look towards the gate; it was lowering, slowly, and – of course – skipped straight to being completely lowered.   
Well, at least they wouldn't have to worry about tearing something on metal spikes.  
  
“I guess this is it, huh. Do you think – we'll be back here?”  
  
“Maybe not. I do not think I'll miss it, but – it always feels a little sad, doesn't it?”  
  
“Perhaps if the device exists in so many places simultaneously, these places do, too.”  
  
He said, not sure if he believed it. The device was an exception, not the rule – and as far as he understood it, when it stopped holding the 'roads' they traveled together, many of the ghost towns barely held together by it ceased being, as well...  
  
Or that's how he'd heard another human explain it to him, once.  
  
“Even if it doesn't. It exists with us, so we have to strive to remember it!”  
  
She chirped encouragingly, and he couldn't explain why the comment made him so glum.  
But – she was here, Hyphen was here.   
He had never had trouble remembering her, and that ferocious, determined look on her face – hungry for victory, but unwavering in her support of him...  
  
“Yeah. We'll remember it after we go home – together. Which I guess brings us to this last goodbye. I don't know if I'll have achieved – the, the goal I set out to. But I'll try to make it happen.”  
  
 _He couldn't remember, but he felt like he was on the right path._  
  
“And I'll try to make your goals work out too, Hyphen. Uh – hey, this is going to sound weird, but besides getting home... Are there any goals, I need to be working towards? For you?..”  
  
She smiled gently to him, her teeth folded into her mouth, and kissed him softly on the forehead.  
  
“You've already helped me. With all the goals I'd dreamed of. So. So!..”  
  
Her smooth carapace felt warm and real against his hand, and the warmth of it gave him the strength he needed to step forward, towards the thrumming energy of the Kingsteen/Toivo device; its electric pulse greeting them hungrily, as yellow light devoured the edges of the staging area, forever and into eternity...

 


	27. E4M1 - Waste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm – I'm so sorry. I don't want to say. Mom...   
> Your mother was called up. They say – they're saying it's the end of the world, but that can't be right.  
> … You want to – no, no. I understand.
> 
> After all, you're just like her.  
> A real killer.  
> ~

[Cold water rushed over his skin, plunging him into the depths below. ](http://nature-other.ambient-mixer.com/cave-with-water)  
  
It was bizarre how quickly has reflexes had adapted to Elsewhere; without thinking he swam to the top of foul-smelling mess he'd landed in, bracing to catch Hyphen's plummeting form as she fell.  
She had only time to register surprise as he hauled them both to shore, shaking from side to side.  
The 'water' had been only some parts water, reminding him most of some far-off rural silage ditch, half animal-dung and half almost-fermented plants.  
  
… The water was _rich_ with plant-life.   
  
Not just dying plants either, but ones that had cannibalized the corpses of their fellows to grow among each other beautifully, before being dragged down into the same muck.   
He could make out strange, Elsewhere-like lillies blooming amongst the same water that clung with fetid brown chunks, and the contrast was almost indescribable.  
  
Or perhaps somewhat fitting; he could not say.  
  
“You okay, Hyphen? That was a close one – “  
  
“My hero. How did you know it would be water. Did you see it as we fell?”  
  
“I'm not sure – I just, I just knew, somehow.”  
  
Traces of yellow still burned the back of retinas, but he didn't blame their beautiful waves of color for his precognition; his vision had mostly returned to normal, after all.  
If anything, it made sense because there had been water before; and there'd be water up ahead.  
  
… Such was the logic of Elsewhere.  
  
Wait –  
  
He stared down into his arms, where the tall and gangly form of Hyphen was stretched out, clearly amused despite his less then glorious entrance and the brackish water he'd crashed into.   
As always, she was lighter then he had expected, or perhaps he'd gotten stronger.  
  
Regardless...  
  
“I'll carry you like this again some other time. But until that day comes, you're capable of standing, right? I'd hate to have to throw you up into the air the moment something scary, uh, jumps out at us...”  
  
This brought forth riotous laughter from Hyphen; perhaps she liked the idea of him (trying) to hurl her upwards into the stratosphere, or the idea of him frantically grunting, searching for items and exits, while juggling her...  
  
She slipped out of his grasp with a languid ease, returning to her usual half-slouched posture.   
Her black eyes scanned the area carefully, already seeing so much more then he could.  
The area had been well-lit, once; by normal, human lighting.   
  
He knew enough to know that it felt like, looked like a sewer; beyond that, he couldn't say.  
  
“The area here is odd. Do you feel as if we just missed something..?”  
  
“Yeah. Like we were late to this party, and it got started without us. Maybe it's just the locale but, I – I hope everyone is okay.”  
  
It was a weird sentiment to have, but he felt it more strongly because of that.   
Masterson and Manon were not friends, exactly, but they had become familiar faces – and anything was better than the fate of dying in an unknowable place, alone and forgotten...  
  
And the almost-normality of being in a sewage drain was making him remember something else, something distant – his mind was screaming to remember, to think, to not let itself be so easily overcome...  
  
Gerald clutched the waterlogged rifle, hopefully proofed enough that it wouldn't jam up if he needed it.  
  
...Somehow, he knew he _wouldn't_ go quietly along with whatever was cagily stalking the shadows around his mind, and the knowledge filled him with a courage and determination he was surprised to find.  
  
“Don't worry, Gerald. You have – I will try to help you. If I can. I feel as if we are close now, to whatever it is that powers this place. Do you feel it, too...”  
  
“I do.”  
  
His eyes turned skywards, though there was no sky down here; the sewage system's roof hung over them like the dirtiest cathedral he'd ever seen.   
And though if he had to choose between the luxuriance of a house of a prayer, and the house of a friend...  
  
“No matter what happens, Hyphen – I love you. Don't forget it, and if something – gets in the way of...”  
  
“I won't leave you. I wanted to say something, first. You may have beat me to it but – the sentiment is also mine. And I feel – strange here. Unthreatened, almost.”  
  
She led him through the maze of twisting passageways, thick with the many messes of plants and it was strange because he felt exactly the same; whatever premonition brought to mind battles already fought also seemed to whisper to him that he was safe here.  
  
 _Welcome,_ here.  
  
They turned the corner into a room where pale amber predominated the shadowy confines, drifting from above on thin electrical strips.  
And here, the water was different, overlaid not just with plants, but –   
  
“I – what...”  
  
Gerald waded towards the water unthinkingly, cautious but unable to contain his mystified curiosity.   
The water hesitantly drifted away from his broad steps, already hemmed in not only by plants, but the multitude of dead creatures, drifting peacefully amongst the slurry.  
  
There were ogres, their huge bodies rent by near-invisible wounds.   
Muscles and veins had popped, and already the vicious beauty of the sewerflowers had began to colonize stagnant-blooded wounds, finding in them a ripe and beautiful soil of an altogether different type...  
  
And there were knights, their armor – animate or inanimate – having been emptied of all edible nutrients, pieces of metal floating and occasionally having become shelter for tiny clinging blooms of algae that drifted peacefully atop the waters...  
  
Fiends, too, with their great murdering claws, sharp and red-stained; but their claws had been no use against whatever slew them so quickly, and from their mouth sprung seedlings, the roots having found great reserves of water and fat to siphon of off, while they began their dreaming towards a time when they would rise high, far above the sewers.  
  
Gerald placed his hand over his heart, unsure why.  
  
“Are you all right, Gerald? We are lucky to not have to fight anything!”  
  
Hyphen chittered happily, and he nodded, but –   
  
“This doesn't feel right. It's like they were caught unawares, just slaughtered, like – like beasts. And maybe they are, but – doesn't mean I'll like it, and I guess, d'you think whatever did it might still be around...”  
  
“No. If it were, I'd worry – that we might not see it coming...”  
  
Her nervous interjection peppered her laughter with an unspoken fear, and Gerald frowned.  
  
“Don't – don't worry. I'll...”  
  
But what could he do, against something that had destroyed everything here so utterly, so completely?  
  
“Let's keep going. We're not going to find the rune in the sewers, I don't think.”  
  
“Maybe it was here, though. And was moved. Do you think that is why the plants here have grown so...”  
  
He nodded, frowning, as they stepped into an open-air pit.  
  
... It was a familiar face was sitting over it, letting water drift under his dangling feet; his fatigues drenched, not that he cared.  
  
And he stared into the dark abyss below him, and didn't say a word as they approached.  
  
“... Masterson!”   
  
Gerald yelled towards him, unsure of whether to shoulder his rifle or – finally – to hold it in position, to...  
  
“... You fuck it, yet?”  
  
Masterson's comment would've been laughable, at any other time. His voice was dry, and frail, and gravelly; like it was coming from an intercom a thousand miles away.  
  
“I'm sorry..?”  
  
Gerald began, feeling Hyphen circling him, warily.  
She'd seemed fairly friendly with Masterson earlier, and yet he could already smell the air singeing around her fingertips...  
  
“Fuck it. Her, I guess. Not good at identifying these, not one of my talents.”  
  
“I don't think – “  
  
“... Copeman. _Gerald_.”  
  
Both men hesitated, the latter at the shock of hearing his name said, and the former at the effort it took to say it.   
And near them, the imp clung to shadows, so her expression might not be seen...  
  
“The rune – that one you two missed out on. It gave me knowledge. 'Bout what all rules this place, and the inevitable death of humanity. The things that came 'fore us, and past. Tried to sell me on, on glorious days, better ones.”  
  
Masterson looked at the tiny bit of purple-blue stone balanced precariously on his lap.  
  
“Right fucking waste of time that. Gerald. I had a – wife and kids, killed 'em. Had to. Told myself I had to. At the time. Haven't fucking been the same sense, survived, had to, to, justify it... But I, the things I've done...”  
  
“Masterson, you don't need to keep talking, I understand – “  
  
“No. _You don't._ See, you're doing it too, you're exactly the same as I am; you're ascribing it feelings, hopes, cares. Making it more human, see. In your head. And maybe it is more then the walking meatsacks I – the thing is, Gerald.”  
  
Gerald looked over his shoulder – he couldn't see Hyphen.  
  
Masterson sighed, and his sigh fell over with the trickling waters into the dark chasm before him.  
  
“It isn't. All it wants is the things it can take from you, and then – who fucking knows. Doesn't really matter, actually. If we fight back, it gets worse. I won't stop. Lost the people I care for. Making 'em hurt, well, it feels good. For a bit.”  
  
His nerves melted a little as he realized Hyphen was clinging to the wall above them – listening, but having become _less_ hostile by the moment.   
Maybe what Masterson was saying was true, or partially true, but – she'd definitely had the option to kill him, and hadn't.  
  
 _He'd believe in her._   
Gerald shut his eyes, and knew in his heart it would've been impossible for him not to; even if what Masterson said was true, to the last word.  
  
“... Do you want to come with us?”  
  
“Why are you still talking to me? Treating me like, I'm a regular fucking human?”  
  
Masterson responded hoarsely, and Gerald was almost certain that the older man was crying.  
  
“I'm dead tired, Copeman. Gerald... I don't remember feeling awake. And even now there's this bit of me that wants to turn around and kill you. Damned if I know why. Just because I can, I think.”  
  
Hyphen coiled out of the shadows at _that,_ but Gerald shook his head – standing in between her and Masterson.   
Just because he trusted her, didn't mean he wouldn't protect – both of them, somehow.  
If he could...  
  
And her black eyes fell upon his – and filmed over one by one, acknowledging the gesture.  
... She smiled a bit, looking chastened, but happy.  
  
Which left...  
  
“But you aren't – right now you aren't, Masterson. Uh, and I don't know if that'll change, but, you can. We've all forgotten who we are a bit, down here...”  
  
The words hit extra close to home for him, but there was no way either of them needed to know that.   
Masterson frowned, stretched in a thin line just visible from the side of his face, snapped his fingers, and splashed water into the yawning abyss below.  
  
“Stop it. There's no hope for me. If the damn rune wouldn't just... Put me back here, at the start of it, I'd drop off right here.”  
  
“What..?”  
  
“Don't ask me – I don't understand any of it, either.”  
  
Masterson laughed, very quietly.  
  
“... Thanks though. Gerald. I suppose if it were up to me, I'd want to have met you, the both of you, before I was all this. Wishing for something though, that's an exercise in futility. Fuckall if it matters, but... Thought I should tell you.”  
  
“Don't – Masterson...”  
  
“I'm telling you, I'll be fine. Next time we meet, maybe I'll feeling up to killing you, right..? Ha, ha. G'bye, Copeman. Miss Hyphen.”  
  
And with one last, brittle laugh, Masterson tumbled forward into the dark below – Gerald running forward a fraction too late, his fingers feeling the torn strands of green cloth drifting through the air as Masterson slid out of reach.  
  
For a moment, he almost wondered if there might be nothing down there at all, if Masterson might make it, disappearing into some vast and hidden –  
  
 _Crunch.  
  
_ The first time he hit a pipe, Masterson's neck bent at an odd-angle.   
He stopped his free-fall, wiggling a bit, either out of an attempt to hold on for dear life, or because of gravity pulling at his limp form.  
  
And then he fell again, for a few minutes – before his side hit another railing, this one jagged and cut open from acrid decay.  
The rusty spire impaled him, side to side, and Gerald could see Masterson's body bend and flex as the sharpness of it slowly cut through one side cleanly;  
  
Leaving Masterson conjoined, but only barely.  
  
And he continued to fall, and fall, and fall...  
  
Eventually, Gerald could watch no more.  
He couldn't cry, either – the ability to do seemed like it'd been closed off to him, and the exhaustion that had replaced it was an unwelcome emptiness.  
  
Hyphen cautiously rose behind him, and placed her arms around his.  
Regardless of what he'd said – regardless of whether or not it was true – her touch was a comfort to his fragmented mind.  
  
“Are you... Going to ask.”  
  
“No. Even if you are, it doesn't matter to me. We're in this together – I've said as much. Even if you've got your own motives, even if you masterminded the attack on Earth yourself...”  
  
 _No, he'd cared about that. He was lying now, and he knew it; but sometimes a lie was a kindness, and other times you had to lie a little, to learn the truth.  
  
_ Hyphen's riotous laughter, even as her embarrassment spread over her lightened-orange face like an explosion, proved a better answer then asking outright ever could have been.  
  
“Goodness... You think I am strong. And now, clever enough to have... On my own! Invaded your world! I really like the person I am who lives in your head...”  
  
“Well, that's good to hear, because it's my quiet hope she isn't going anywhere. Uh. But – “  
  
He stared down into the pit. Masterson was no longer visible.  
  
“I know he's not exactly, but... If we find him...”  
  
“Yes. Yes. I do not think – anyone deserves to be - like that, here. And even when I do, you remind me of why I should.”  
  
Her eyes flitted behind her, a strange and tooth-riddled look of distaste crossing her lipless mouth; at herself, it seemed, but it was hard to say.   
Still – her touch was warm; though to be honest...  
  
“Uh, second weird request, could you create some fire? I'm freezing. Probably the damn, uh, sewer water.”  
  
And her eyes wheeled back to his with the force of a hammerblow, pensiveness obliterated by a look of supreme happiness that he didn't feel entirely comfortable with.   
Had he said anything peculiar?  
  
“Yes, yesyes! Of course, I'm always glad to burn things! Well, but. We should be careful of course. All this is likely quite tightly packed, quite flammable. Perhaps not that much fire, no...?”  
  
She continued to chitter excitedly to herself long after she'd finished speaking, fire pulsing from both of her open palms.  
  
Unthinkingly, she held hers to his.  
  
He took it.  
  
“Well – uh, that's nice.”  
  
Leaving his confusion at the fact that holding an unprotected open-flame wasn't even causing him mild discomfort – and his lover a great deal of joy – Gerald decided to ignore the relative unimportance and focus on what seemed pressing, specifically...  
  
“I guess we're going to have to think of somewhere down there, aren't we? Not raftable, the current's too weak, doesn't look like there's a ladder big enough in all the world...”  
  
“Maybe we do not need to navigate it. What if we cling to the edges here, and then try to enter into that broken pipe. The one that.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
 _The one Masterson'd split himself on.  
  
_ “Getting down there'll be pretty scary, but if you'll look after me, I'll give it a try. Are you just gonna climb down there like a pro?”  
  
“No. That would leave you to do so on your own.”  
  
Her eyebrowless eyes knit together, and Hyphen paced around him in long, exaggerated strides, staring down into the abyss with a look of unbending thoughtfulness.  
  
“Deimos does not use ropes or ladders. Not often. But adding machines to organics, or organics to machines. That is doable. And fun! So, so. Let me just – think.”  
  
He lay against the wall, almost wanting to close his eyes and take a nap – and let her do just that.  
  
Soon, Hyphen had assembled a bundle of the rubbish that cluttered up the sewageways.   
He could see some cast-of analog television, a strange series of old bathtoys in apparently mint condition, several cables and wires, a dirty syringe...  
  
“Whatever you're going to build with that, I'm not trusting it with my life.”  
  
His smile made her laugh, but her eyes did not flicker from the pile of gutter relics.  
  
“This is just material. To attract the right things, that live in the right spaces. I am sure you have met them before, even if they are very hidden in your world.”  
  
 _Uh..._  
  
“ **Stases** is looking into the certainties. What is. And what we know is just what is in the **compressed** deeps, everywhere, that doesn't change.”  
  
The back of his mind began to hurt, and he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know what she was getting at, which sounded somewhat terrifying – though it apparently made her very happy, since she had what was probably the Deimos equivalent in a doctorate of horrifying hell-magic.  
  
And he knew better then to call it that, but...  
  
“So you find them and fix them to things and they come. It is simple as that, but it takes time and effort and knowing what not to open. But I am skilled in all these things. So let us see what happens...”  
  
This time, he watched Hyphen work – the way she placed all the things around her, and the air began to shimmer with a heat haze that smelled so strongly that he could pick it up almost instantly, the sulfurous scent perfectly matching the blurred corruption in the air.  
  
And that was the word he'd use to describe it, too – corruption.   
Where the air _opened up,_ there were little repetitions in the background of it, as if someone had stretched the environs of the sewers over themselves, ten, one hundred, a thousand times.  
  
Within those corruptions, there were corruptions too – things that caused his mind to reel to behold them, and he recalled a warning he'd heard about the Kingsteen/Toivo device, and about certain revelations it had produced...  
  
Hyphen waded into the hellscape with the same blaise nonchalance he'd seen welders handle welding tools, firefighters dash into burning buildings, and combat veterans...  
 _Ah._   
Well, guess he was one of those, wasn't he...?  
  
She pulled _through_ the background of the room, and there was something strange and pulsating in the air, not quite touching her hands. In fact, it almost seemed like it was actively repelling itself away from them, neither wanting to make contact nor enter into the world around them –  
  
And then reality snapped back.  
The items she'd gathered were gone, and a patch of something pale and skin-like was growing off of a sewer wall, feeding hungrily on the surprised plants that it had affixed itself over.  
  
“Yay!”  
  
Hyphen cooed happily to herself, looking incredibly proud.  
  
“Uhhhh – is that good?”  
  
“Oh, yes. I should not be so happy about a simple operation, but this is unfamiliar terrain. Also! I am not an – “  
  
And she paused, hesitating before saying a word that hung in the clicking euphonies of her voice that left him absolutely confused, but that he decided sounded little like arkwill.  
  
“ – So actually performing such transfers is considered beyond my station, somewhat.”  
  
Because of whatever she had done after they first met, however, he was able to perceive what it meant to her, why she was so _proud_ with her hands held behind her back like a shy human woman might.  
He understood the floating images of the white and featureless humanoids not unlike her, capable of moving entire beings like her through the deeps, as she referred to it –   
  
“Hmn. So what you're actually saying is that you really are the strongest?”  
  
“Maybe, I, _maybe I am...”_  
  
Hyphen whispered to herself, then threw herself around him in a loping, charging tackle.  
  
Gerald held her tightly, just happy to see her so pleased with herself; and when she finally pried herself loose with that same force, the growth on the wall had receded.   
What it had replaced itself with was a tear in the wall that looked entirely as if the wall had also receded, unwilling to remain in contact with whatever Hyphen had called into being.  
  
Beyond it was a long security ladder, just hidden from beyond their sights.  
  
… Hyphen shut the topmost row of her eyes, which he decided was her equivalent to raising an eyebrow.  
  
“Don't think about it too much, Hyphen.”  
  
Gerald shrugged, yawning and removing himself from the wall.  
  
“We'll have a chance to ask questions later – and if we don't, it'll be because we're back _home._ ”  
  
And this word, too, meant something a little different now.   
He was still thinking of Earth, and he always would, but he was beginning to see an Earth that was not quite the Earth he had left, nor the Earth she might wish for, but...  
  
They extended the ladder towards the first set of pipes, and it barely reached them in that dark haze where bile-colored water fell.   
As he navigated it carefully, she followed beside him; refusing to walk the walls until he pointed out that it was easier for her to catch him, if she were at his side.  
  
But as frightening as the great chasms below were, the ladder was well-made and he'd gotten pretty good at not letting his fear get in the way of moving throughout Elsewhere.   
Soon they'd made it to the first singular pipe...  
  
And then, to one once similar to it, now mottled with a dark-brown stain.  
  
Its interior was easily big enough for the both of them, and he was grateful at least that there wasn't going to be any trouble standing side-by-side.   
Hyphen had produced more fire without asking; he wasn't feeling nearly as cold now that his uniform had dried, but...  
  
The light made her teeth shine pleasantly.  
  
Gerald smiled to himself and held out his hand – which she took hastily, fumbling for his fingers as her flames danced and eased away, and the awkward movement of her darkened orange carapace in this lonely place...  
  
He let his thoughts trail off pleasantly.  
The pipe seemed to be made of copper, or some metal like it; like much in Elsewhere, he was uncertain if it were directly related to the metals and substances he knew, or a pale and alien imitation.  
  
But they were approaching light – and rapidly, at that.  
  
“Do you think the sewage system is actually connected to a wastewater treatment plant? How crazy'd that be...”  
  
He joked, even though Hyphen didn't seem to understand.   
She laughed for his sake – then frowned, then laughed some more.  
  
“A building, to treat sewage. That sounds interesting.”  
  
“Uh, well, I don't know if interesting is the word I'd use. More like necessary, there are a lot of us and we produce a lot of waste, you know, biologically and otherwise. A lot of our agriculture – oh.”  
  
He'd meant to talk to her about the vast ranches where humans raised animals, for pets, for consumption, and for the materials they provided – but the words suddenly seemed so very insignificant.  
  
Ahead of them, a service ladder rose into an empty maintenance room in a very human-looking building.  
  
It welcomed them with a gentle thrum of electric yellow light.

 


	28. E4M2 - The Wiretower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come on, Gerald. You're not the kind of – listen to me. You should just run, find some place to stay hidden. You aren't a fighter! You aren't a warrior! And I love you, so much, and I can't protect you!  
> There's nothing we can do, any of us.
> 
> So you might as well just continue to let us die.  
> ~

The room itself was unfamiliar to her, though not to him.   
Gerald had seemed distracted at first.  
Perhaps because this was such a familiar sight to him, or perhaps at shock from the light all around them -  
  
[Hyphen found it stifling, and clawed at the bulb irritably.](http://rpg.ambient-mixer.com/at-the-mouth)  
It shattered easily enough.  
  
"... Easy there, Hyphen! I – huh."  
  
And in the darkness, he blinked, and blinked again - and laughed.  
  
"That's much better, actually. Thanks. Huh, there's even magazines here, aren't there?.."  
  
She hadn't done it for his sake, of course; it had just been aggravatingly bright, and seeing him smile was a pleasant bonus!  
Though she had not expected him to adapt to the dark so quickly, and so well -  
  
Gerald tripped over his own feet, and a bucket filled with some of the brackish water from below, and she laughed - chittering quietly.  
Well, it _was_ fairly dark, for him.  
  
"It is no problem. None at all! But please be careful. The electric sound of everything is."  
  
She grasped for the word in his tongue, even as she helped her lover to his feet.  
The magazines he'd found were featureless, with nothing on the cover and no writing inside of them.  
And she could only imagine they were not like that on his earth.  
  
"As if it is everywhere. All at once. This area does not feel safe and I do not like it."  
  
"Doesn't surprise me. It'd be just too much if there was a nice place to hunker down and thumb through magazines, huh..."  
  
Her lower teeth ground against one another, still laughing - but more quietly.  
Outside - from the glow of distant electricity - she could see it.  
  
A tower, built of metals not natural to Deimos; and wreathed in the occasional crackling burst of light and energy.  
  
It had once held a great many strings and power-wires above it, she was all but _certain;_ and yet they had been sundered and cut and left to fall about it, dangling and discharging light into the colorless air around them.  
  
And the atmosphere here was without color, as much as the **compression** itself.  
It would have almost felt pleasant and comfortable, if not for the unfamiliar electricity and the _wrongness of it_.  
Hyphen could not tell if the building was meant to appeal to her, or to him, or perhaps to both of them -  
  
She tensed, one foot behind the other, as his fingers pressed against her shoulder.  
  
"... I'll go first. Guess we're not going to get any farther by sitting here, I mean."  
  
Gerald's face had grown quite haggard since first she'd seen him.  
This hardness - she was uncertain how she felt about it. On the one hand, he had become stronger, but...  
  
_Ah.  
  
_ "No. No."  
  
Hyphen took a deep breath, shutting her eyes and feeling the air sizzle with her body; the deeps of this place were full of electricity, and perhaps life, too.  
But she did not care to risk the man whom she could protect, with his silly beard and his good nature, for this.  
  
She had not meant to grapple at his side; and there were wounds there, and she could not remember where the last one had been, and which one it had healed over. But she left her fingers there, wondering if the scars healed over were like carapace, or a distant cousin -  
  
"This will be - I will go first. Even Ex Ohs need to rest. Sometimes... So I shall take the less burdensome position of captain, now."  
  
"Huh, most would see that as the more strenuous - nevermind. I graciously accept."  
  
She smiled in the darkness, and clawspikes tore through the exit of the maintainance room with little protest.  
  
Outside, bits of ash that had been near invisible floated through the air; Hyphen imagined they were from particulates of garbage and plant-matter that had made contact with the transformers above, but could not be certain.  
  
Each of her eyes cast about; behind them, the rise of a chainlink fence - which, beyond it, held a void of nothing that seemed to have no end, an inescapable lightlessness that she felt very strongly was not something they should investigate.  
  
And the absence of light yawned all around them - and once again, they were forced forward -  
  
"Hmn. Seems like a trap to me."  
  
His lips had curled into a smug little grin, and - how, how irritating!  
  
But Hyphen reminded herself of the caution that was expected when dealing with unknown matter, and of her position, and managed not to pout, retracting her spikes even as Gerald kept laughing...  
  
"Well. It is my humble opinion that the only way to destroy it is to move forward. Besides, it does not feel... Threatening. Exactly."  
  
"More abandoned, almost."  
  
Gerald kicked at the chainlink fence she'd observed, and Hyphen chirped back a nervous warning; but it was clear the fence wouldn't break, and even if it would, the void beyond was not being contained by it, but just... There.  
  
"Yesyes. I feel as if this place is very. Very sad. Like a tomb."  
  
"More than the others we've found?"  
  
"... Have you ever had a place to truly think for yourself; where nobody else can find you."  
  
"I - I think so, Hyphen."  
  
And she did her best to ignore his frown - for whatever he was forgetting, she only hoped it were for the best.  
... Her own memories sometimes faltered, of course, but she could make this point, must make this point -  
  
"Once. When the little bond-animals we - "  
  
"Gosh, Deimos has pets?"  
  
"Not pets! _Guardians!_ "  
  
"Uh-huh, I bet you had a cute little demon dog. Probably named it Fido, or, or uh..."  
  
The pronunciation of her tongue was so embarrassingly stretched out, and yet incredibly sweet; it hung in the air after they'd let themselves into the swinging doors of the tower in front of them, steel branded with marks and runic lettering that had long since ceased to matter...  
  
If ever it had.  
  
"No. They were there to make sure the strongest would not eat us too quickly!"  
  
Gerald had stopped, his mouth agape - Hyphen, leering over a discarded pile of junk, found herself thumbing through it and cooing with happiness.  
So much raw material was here; yes, things like sound transmitters, the things he'd called radios - wheels, and cogs... And...  
  
"Wait. Hold up. Your people cannibalize one another?"  
  
"Don't yours?"  
  
"Uh, er, well... I'm sure some people'd make that argument, metaphorically, but..."  
  
Gerald's fingers were massaging the bridge of his nose, as if trying to find some words that she knew he would not.  
... Then his eyes shot open, and if it were possible -  
  
"You're - you're pulling my leg, aren't you..."  
  
Hyphen laughed and threw several pieces of useless scavenge into the air - and Gerald's hand smacked into his forehead.  
  
When he'd finished mumbling his _very serious disapproval_ , he took in some of the junk she'd discarded, and whistled.  
  
"Fold-out keyboards, neat. I guess this place was a manufactory, or something..."  
  
"None of these places are truly what we imagine."  
  
Hyphen's mirth fell, a little. There was no need for Elsewhere to create anything for the denizens what dwelled within it; or at least, so she imagined.  
  
Gerald continued to look at the fold-out keyboard, then let it tumble through his fingertips.  
It clattered to the ground, and he stepped over it; ignoring the crunch it made as his boot ground it underfoot.  
  
"What was your point, though, Hyphen - earlier. For real."  
  
"... Not really a point. A memory. Just a memory."  
  
_And she tried not to remember it too deeply, for fear it might disappear._  
  
"There are places in Deimos where nobody chooses to go because they are lonely, and for me, they were not. This place feels like that. But. But not for us..."  
  
Stairs upwards had tiny guardrails that had been recently polished, despite a lack of room for anyone to fall off; and perhaps more peculiarly, tiny beds of beautiful flowers had been placed at their sides, and Hyphen found herself unable to look away; her body took in the scent of them and they were strong and intoxicating.  
  
... Gerald, too, looked in awe - she realized that for her, the newness of them was pleasant, but the reminder for him...  
  
"Let's keep moving. Please."  
  
And she held his hand, and did not stare overlong as he scooped one of the flowers from the bed, handling it as if it might disappear in the blink of an eye.  
  
Numerous hallways up above trailed through mazes of office complexes like the working crucibles they claimed stake of in Deimos; and she knew from his reminiscing they were the offices of humans, but so _small_ they were, and filled with such useless things...!  
  
"You survived, then."  
  
Manon stared down at them from far above, face obscured by peals of steam.  
  
Gerald cupped his fingers to his lips, yelling upwards as if she might not hear them.  
  
"Manon! Glad you're all right!"  
  
Hyphen paused, perhaps expecting a hail of gunfire - and yet...  
  
"Yes. I'm alive, I think, thanks to you. Demon. And I do not know your name - formally, I mean..."  
  
"You may call me Hyphen, please. It's not worth trying to draw out the. Syllables..."  
  
"... Marianne."  
  
"What?! That's not what you told me, at all - "  
  
The steam had dissipated, exposing a wry grin on the face of Marianne that neither of them had seen before. She held the great weapon she favored behind her back, and shut one eye.  
  
"And perhaps you should have asked more. But I don't forget courtesy, and - I don't want to die. So I guess this is the only real reward I can offer, but a name seems so valuable, here."  
  
"Can we get up there?"  
  
Gerald asked, and Marianne frowned - shaking her head.  
  
"It might be possible for Hyphen, I think; but not for you, nor me. This is fine. I'll walk alongside you as you climb, provide cover... But this place is empty."  
  
The light in her eyes softened, slightly.  
  
"It is - quite comfortable, to me. But to remain comfortable in a prison..."  
  
Something glittered at her side, and Hyphen knew well the rune when she saw it.  
No longer did it call to her, having found a master; but it simmered with the heat she knew all too well...  
  
For she recognized it as being full of both **stases** and **dynamics,** and familiar, all-consuming fire.  
  
"Manon. Marianne. You are... Well..."  
  
Hyphen burbled, words slipping one over the other as Gerald carelessly stepped up and over the stairwell, Marianne watching him go with an uncaring and distant smile taut against her lips.  
  
"Better than well. I do not feel so lost to the cause of it all; whatever happens from now on, I've collapsed to it. When you are certain of an outcome, why even roll the die..."  
  
And Hyphen saw the well-mended rupture in Marianne's armor, and the ruinously burnt flesh underneath, the burn-scars unhealing, and unable to heal.  
  
Marianne saw her look, and her caution - and smiled, baring all her teeth, and even though she was a human -  
  
"Fear not. I have no malice towards any living creature, right now. There's nothing left to do. So shall we not walk, awhile..."  
  
And walk they did, Hyphen loping cautiously behind Gerald, and occasionally scampering in front of him. There was no danger - of that she felt certain, at least in the moment.  
  
Whatever the rune whispered to Marianne, and however it lied, it lied with the words of Deimos, and if Marianne wished to, she could say a thousand petty little truths that might - Gerald might not, to hear...  
  
But Marianne did not, for all the glumness that had fallen over, and for that at least, Hyphen was incredibly grateful.  
  
Above them stretched a great skyroof built of glass and metal - there was no sky above them, of course, but yellow light fell from above all the same, bathing them in enough that she felt the three of them might as well have been dyed in gold.  
  
"Strange, isn't it. Before, I would've welcomed such clarity of light, and now I just wish it would leave me alone."  
  
"Hey, hey, don't say that Ma - Marianne. I mean, I... I kind of feel the same. It's not just me, right? Ha, hahaha..."  
  
Bits of ash floated around inside the tower as well; and as they climbed further up the stairs, they seemed to grow and multiply, until the air was thick with ash that had no visible source.  
Only Gerald grew choked by it, finally pulling up his collar around his lips and filtering the air through it, paltry as that was.  
  
And Hyphen wished desperately to do something, yet all they could was talk.  
  
"We're getting closer, I think. To leaving. Somehow."  
  
She was surprised at how whispered and small she sounded, and did not like it.  
For she had to be strong, had to be...  
  
"Hmn. That would be something. Might I come with you, then - to see the world of yours this bauble talks so highly of..."  
  
"Oh, highly of..."  
  
And without thinking, Hyphen preened, smiling into the yellow light above, which flickered against the darkness of her eyes.  
  
Even a rune here spoke of it.  
Deimos was bathed in victory, then...  
  
"Yesyes! I want to bring all the people who'd like to go there to Deimos. I think, that, you'd... There are a lot of things to look forward to there. Yes..."  
  
"Hyphen... That sounds awfully suspicious..."  
  
"I do not mean it like that! There truly is!"  
  
The two humans exchange glances, and laughter - nervous laughter, the kind that humans made from deep within their throats.  
And Hyphen hesitated.  
  
_What was it that was making them doubt her, no -  
What was it that made her began to feel doubt...?  
  
_ Above, the yellow light shone, irritably.  
  
Perhaps that was it, then.  
  
Her first experiment, isolated and without input from others, had been to see the effect of a thousand years in a day, in isolation (and without input from others) on stone.  
Stone was not like metal.  
It did not grow or accept growth well.  
  
But, **stases** were more patient than **dynemes** and it was an easy thing to coerce stone when it had none of its peers to rely on...  
  
Smiling impishly, she through fire upward, and it struck the skyroof; cracking glass and blackening metal which fell and melted with the ash in the air.  
  
...The yellow light ceased, and she could _hear_ the sigh of relief from Gerald, and Marianne and -  
Herself...?  
  
"I've never been so happy to switch to night-vision. And you, Gerald?"  
  
"Uh, I don't have 'nightvision' - "  
  
"Hmn. How unfortunate. Hyphen, you won't get lost in the dark, at least?"  
  
"Oh, no, no! I quite prefer the dark. Much easier to sneak around in."  
  
For the second time she felt proud, and quite glad to have not mentioned that she also preferred it for the way it shielded and made it easy to rest; for somehow she felt that might distract from the way her eyes glittered and her height, and give a...  
  
Different image, than that of which she wanted to project, right now...  
  
Marianne shook her head, chuckling.  
  
... Her figure had began to recede below them.  
  
"It seems I cannot make it much further with you. I'm sure we shall meet again, assuming none of us die too quickly. But death, I think, is not going to let me go, is it, Hyphen?"  
  
She felt the fire crawl to a halt within her; and the deeps of her roared in fear, for the brown light of her eyes sparkled with a determination that no gold could match.  
  
"I, I, I, do not know about that... _AHAHAHAHAHA..."  
  
_ "Of course you do not; all this place is a mystery, after all. Well, then. Until next we meet."  
  
The fear trickled away, though Marianne did not blink, and did not look away from her - even as she reached for the security door at her side, opening it to an endless black void like that they'd passed by behind the chainlink fence...  
And walking into it, confidentally, as the door shut behind her.  
  
"We've done real good, Hyphen. If - if Masterson's still alive, and we can save him..."  
  
But she did not answer at first, trying to keep her emotions constrained, and unbetraying.  
He must not - could not...  
  
"Please..."  
  
Hyphen murmured, and Gerald heard it.  
  
"I trust you."  
  
And the seconds painfully transmuted into minutes, and she stood as still as a statue.  
  
"... But do you want to tell me something..."  
  
Her fingers drew around her shoulders, and she traced the rise of spikes, trying to find some words that might be - that might...  
  
"I do not... Know..."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Gerald nodded, once.  
  
"That's fine, for now. Let's just keep going and doing good, all right? Getting back to Deimos - "  
  
"Or Earth - "  
  
"Or... Or Earth, yeah. That's fine, that's a good goal for now."  
  
Hyphen shut her eyes, and made her choice.  
  
"No."  
  
Gerald paused, halfway up the next flight of stairs; they'd climbed all too many, falling behind them like a distant spire coated in ash and echoing electricity, and she could not see the ground floor. If she'd leapt, she would have enough time to compress, for how great the fall was...  
  
"I do not want... To make you choose things, to influence your - the way you... I like you, the way. The way you are..."  
  
She whispered over the edge of her teeth, and nobody responded.  
  
Gerald watched the ash fall, and lowered his collar, inhaling deeply.  
  
"You know, I've always liked the smell of soot. I can't remember why, though. Maybe it's a chemical thing. Brain imbalance."  
  
"Gerald..."  
  
"Whatever happens, I've got to make this call on my own, right? Well - people influence one another. I'm scared. Scared as... As heck."  
  
And she laughed, a little.  
  
His hands ran through his hair.  
  
"But aren't I influencing _you,_ too?"  
  
Her eyes jolted open, and the rush of adrenaline sent Hyphen reeling.  
She realized her posture had changed greatly from what it might have been on Deimos many lifetimes before; and she'd enjoyed so immensely the exchange of cultures, of, of pleasantries...  
  
... She felt the ash falling against her carapace, and shook it off.  
  
"Well. I disagree. Soot smells burnt, with nothing else. I want to see a park. With more flowers. And with trees. So we can."  
  
"And that's why I trust you, Hyphen."  
  
Gerald turned, foot resting against the next metal step, and held his hand out to her.  
Hyphen took it gladly, and the warmth of his fingers, even cooler than hers...  
  
From the hole in the ceiling above, the void roared; whatever had been containing it finally giving out.  
The stairs fell out from under them, and neither even had the time to scream, as they fell and fell and fell until the motion of falling itself seemed it might flense skin from bone.  
  
But, Hyphen, realized, she'd already prepared for this.  
  
You should not be able to **compress** with another, unless you were of far better standing than she. But she was desperate, and determined, and he had said she was strong; and more important still...  
She believed it.  
  
They did not hit the ground, but tapped lightly against it, even though Gerald looked incredibly weak; she made a note never to repeat the experience if at all possible, however brief, the clamminess and sweat he was shaking off matching the terror and distorted pupils on his face.  
  
... She leaned down to kiss his scalp, and breathed in time with him until his breath normalized.  
  
"It is all right. You're fine. We are okay."  
  
Hyphen whispered, and Gerald swallowed his breath back; it was amazing how quickly humans could recover from these things.  
... Then he embraced her, and did not move for some time. (She did not mind it.)  
  
"Please, don't, uh - don't do that. I mean, thank you, but - "  
  
"You need not apologize. It is not fun for us, either."  
  
"Whew. I didn't wanna make some kind of interspecies, kerfluffle, there..."  
  
"I would not care if you did..."  
  
Hyphen whispered, and sized in the dirt around them - wrecked with bits of metal staircase and yellow cautionary tape that meant nothing to her.  
  
Ghastly flames began to dance at the edge of their vision, emitting no warmth and consuming the facsimile manmade materials as they fell, leaving only distant afterimages in their wake.  
  
Beyond them stood a great building that at first she thought might be some kind of temple, some kind of strange human place of worship built for whatever purpose she could not imagine.  
And from Gerald's expression, it seemed he had the same thought - his gaze harsh and lips taut, and...  
  
It wasn't a shrine, then.  
  
But the clay-fired walls bristled with malice, and the dead earth beneath them, salted and ruined as it was, still made it clear to anything sentient that approached...  
  
This place was a tomb, and a relic, and a monument.  
  
And the torches adorning the walls had been snuffed out, save for those that beckoned them forward with a dim, amber, light.

 


	29. E4M3 - The Crumbling Facade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world got so big, so quickly. Hearing that you're proud of me -  
> Thanks, Gerald. I guess I did it? Huh...  
> I just feel so overwhelmed, all the time.
> 
> But I'm happy here. We're looking forward to hosting you, as a family.  
> Crazy world, huh? Guess that makes me a family man...
> 
> You ever think of starting a family...?  
> ~

[Hundreds of years of architectural history stared down at them, two tiny figures that would not be remembered even as the edifices before them remained.](http://ambient-music.ambient-mixer.com/synthetic-chorus)  
  
Each stone had been plucked from some time or place, from some unique part of the world that might not exist any more; and he could see strands of marble cracked with color in every conceivable shade, slate, and granite...  
  
It seemed that the palace itself had once been very grand, as dis-unified as it was, a remnant of whatever power had claimed Elsewhere as its own; for this, Gerald _knew,_ had been some kind of inner sanctum.  
  
... He did not notice or care as his fingers faltered through the yellow flame of a nearby torch, snuffing it subconsciously.  
  
"Somebody got them all before we did, huh. There's nothing left to kill us."  
  
And he wanted to laugh, but for the incredible sorrow hanging over him.   
They pushed through vast doors that shone an almost prismatic reflection; doors that had been eaten away by vines and dust and time.  
  
Hyphen paused, half-crouched to the ground behind him.  
All of her eyes fixated on a stained-glass image above, replete with stylistic and beautiful depictions of creatures he had never seen.  
  
... She hissed, quietly, but not quietly enough to evade notice, and not with enough ferocity to seem real; it was as if the anger or resentment that he could not affix to Hyphen, not the Hyphen he knew, had left her - as ruined as this desecrated palace.  
  
"Did your people... Do this...?"  
  
"No. Though I am sure we would have. And I am not sure I even would."  
  
The black of her eyes met his, all downcast and unfilmed. She did not finish her thought, so Gerald waited - feeling the weight of glass-cast figures staring down at him while their descendants lie dead in the shattered ruins of a million possible worlds.  
  
"I would not. This is not, how I want things..."  
  
"Guess that's too of us. I feel like - "  
  
And he bit back the 'God' even though he wanted to ask, desperately.  
  
"Heaven above, I wish that even if these are the same monsters that reached earth, we didn't have to... Damnit all."  
  
"You didn't do it though. And besides, it is emphatically, my peoples who - "  
  
"I know, Hyphen. I'm just tired."  
  
Even though he shut his eyes, Gerald could feel her gangly form wrapped around him, and even if she _was_ taller, and even if she _was_ that much warmer, he didn't want to move, and he didn't want to open his eyes, ever again.  
  
"Nobody will remember this place."  
  
... He forced his eyes open. The smooth umber of her forehead was crooked down against his, and he stroked her, softly.   
Maybe nobody would remember them, either; or this, or what it had meant to be alive.  
It was all right - he felt. Never had he wanted to be, to be important...  
  
"I'll remember, even if it's only into this life. And I guess that's all I can do."  
  
"That we can do."  
  
"Huh, well, you don't have to help me with it. I mean - I don't know what the bad blood is..."  
  
Slowly, Hyphen detached, and turned away. She chittered near-silently, each alien syllable stretching on the filtered air and intelligible despite the fact that he felt certain he understood the meaning.  
  
And even with his eyes open, he could imagine the endless basalt-plains of Deimos, where the fires tore through chasms and vents in the earth, and flesh-ground grew ripe with the possibility to **be.**   
  
Where the strange creatures that could not survive without the aid of machines grew in small broods, and the castes - the closest analogue his mind could find - of her people kept their own consul until some force stirred their hands.  
  
Of the curiosity and avarice with which her people had sliced through realities for no other reason than the fact that they could, not unlike the first fledgling steps humanity had made towards the stars - only to yank their hands back as if burnt, by their own sun, or the fear they might one day settle in sight of another.  
  
Hyphen smiled - and it was a very human smile.  
  
"There is no bad blood. It just seems that mistakes are made. Very often, again and again."  
  
"Guess so. D'you think the fact that we're the last people left..."  
"We don't know that. Besides, Marianne, at least, is alive."  
  
"Okay, fine - but, well, that kinda makes us eligible for king and queen of this place, right? It does seem like a palace..."  
  
"No! I do not want to be royalty!"  
  
The walls had not decayed so much outside of the foyer; there were no open gaps to dirt, or emptiness. Here, at least, the structure of the castle felt as if it had been made to last for as long as any structure might last; perhaps an eternity, or perhaps a few days, in the time of the great woolen beast they'd slain earlier.  
  
Several small pools had been carved into marble tile nearby, drained of whatever liquid they'd once held; he could smell chlorine, or something like it, and whether it was a sight-memory or the curious thought that Elsewhere had once had pools, Gerald couldn't help but stifle a grin.  
  
"Well, too bad. I'm the King of Elsewhere, even if you don't wanna be."  
  
"Very well. I dethrone you back to being Gerald Copeman."  
  
"Guess that abolishes the monarchy; it was pretty, while it lasted."  
  
From the very bottom of the shallow pools, he could see remnants of something that looked a little like congealed muck. He wasn't certain if it were like the plant matter from before, but it didn't have the same overpowering scent or presence.  
  
"Hey. Hyphen. Do you think..."  
  
Lips pursed, he knelt down, fingers scraping under the nails as he pried a tile from the ground, and chucked it into the pool; it shattered in a ceramic haze, sending dustclouds choking up form the abandoned remnants.  
  
"This place was cleared out recently, wasn't it...?"  
  
Underneath the tiling, the muck had not yet been entirely drained of life, or deprived of whatever nutrients fed it in this fragment of a distant world. Occasionally, it thrummed as if with a vitality all of its own; though whether it was a lifeform, or merely a root of something far and distant -  
  
"Perhaps. But I do not think, anything left alive here. Is part of the old guard..."  
  
And she knelt to the writhing ground, and bared her teeth at it - but the ground didn't respond, and he was reminded of a memory; but memories no longer held any rule here.  
  
"Well! It does not matter. At least we can choose where we want to go, for once?"  
  
"Yeah, seems like it!"  
  
If Elsewhere had held a plan for them, perhaps this was its culmination; for exits lead in every direction, grandiose tiling in alien patterns meaning nothing to man nor demon.  
  
Gerald rustled his fingertips against his stubble, coating it with his own blood - though the cuts were already closing off.  
  
"Dunno how you feel about it, but I wouldn't mind trying to see if there's a kitchen or storage or something like that; I'm still good to go, but - "  
  
"Sensible! Besides, maybe we can find some proof of our conquest..."  
  
"Ah, you don't want to be noble, you just wanna say you came, saw, and conquered. I getcha."  
  
"You aren't wrong. Besides! I am curious!"  
  
That was easy enough for him to agree on. Gerald whistled an old song, the one he remembered about having a dream the night before, when everything was still...  
And the lyrics evaded him, but the tune was a comfort in the empty halls.  
  
Cramped tunnels drew close around them, forcing Gerald to walk side by side with a slightly stooped and muttering Hyphen; he didn't mind it in the slightest, but her cursing at shadows was as much a comfort as his half-hearted melodies, and it was strange how normal this had become.  
  
Eventually, the tile faded away into an open vault, sealed by great bars of metal; whatever it had held, be it weapons or food or coins or - or whatever the denizens of Elsewhere had cherished, it was empty, now. Completely empty, with nothing to show for it but silence.  
  
... The tile here had ripped asunder, and tiny shoots of green were prying through it.  
  
Hyphen knelt down again.  
Dark eyes unblinking and level with the viridian sprout in front of her, as if unable to comprehend it, or perhaps - perhaps just in awe.  
  
Then she took it in her hand, and yanked it free, and held it in her open and outstretched palm.  
  
"Do you think, perhaps... We're still being led..."  
  
"It's not impossible; this whole thing feels like a maze, but I - I can't see why there'd be plants here, I mean, I couldn't understand the flowers before; and I know we're being shown this for a reason, but what the reason is, I can't..."  
  
Frustration fled from his voice as Gerald dropped to the floor, and brought his hands to his knees.  
Hyphen knelt against him, and the two were silent in the empty vault.  
  
"Maybe we should just stay here; stop moving forward. Maybe Marianne'll get to wherever we're going, and save..."  
  
Rocks fell against one another in the distance, and then again - closer, and closer.   
  
It wasn't even second nature for him to rise, anymore. If anything else, he'd forgotten how to rest easily.  
  
However, the floor didn't fall out from under them, this time; just collapsed a little in the rightmost corner where supports had been eaten away by something acidic or ruinous, and perhaps it didn't matter which.   
  
Loping over, Hyphen stuck her head down into the open hole, and a little of his exhaustion melted away.  
  
"Don't go doing something like that, Hyphen! What if it's a - "  
  
"It isn't a trap, I don't think. There's a strange place down here, though. It's very broad. There are many stones at odd angles, too! And more dirt."  
  
This latter was added very matter-of-factly, so bluntly that he found himself laughing again; of course there'd be dirt in a hall under a castle in the depths of Elsewhere, for why wouldn't there be?  
  
"Well, if it's not a trap, let's investigate. I guess dirt from the ruins of this place'll have to do, right? As, ah, proof of conquest - "  
  
"I think you should see this."  
  
She'd already pried herself through the hole in that incredibly languid way she moved; the flexibility with which she stretched past it a blur of motion in dark sienna, soon vanished. His throat stuck, and Gerald held his hand to his heart - and sighed.  
  
He could hear the rumble of stone falling away underneath as he lowered himself into the awning, much more slowly and disjointedly; the drop fell a good twenty feet, but where he'd have been worried even with everything else...  
  
"I have caught you!"  
  
And Hyphen seemed so proud of herself, bristling with happy excitement, he was content not to say anything at all.  
  
Until, of course, he saw what she'd noticed.  
  
It was unquestionably a graveyard.  
  
Not a graveyard for citizens of Elsewhere, if they'd been sentient or considered the importance of graves, of markers for their deceased; but there were obelisks and crosses and shapes in imitation - no, actual stones left for the dead, just as on that planet...  
  
Just as on Earth.  
  
Reeling, Gerald stumbled out of her arms and backwards onto the dirt; it was cold and calm and soothing, and felt as if it might engulf him if he let it, and he wondered if maybe that was the worst that could happen; just letting the ambient glare at the side of his vision overwhelm everything, and rest...  
  
But Hyphen was staring at him.  
  
The rows of teeth he'd found menacing at first sight were pulled into a concerned and caring frown, ground against one another because he _knew_ how he must look right now. And she was not trying to look human, here; her posture was low to the ground, and nervous, and he was the cause of it.  
  
... No way. There was no way he'd let the doom of it all way him down.   
And even if that meant doing precisely as had been preordained, he'd continue to do it.  
  
Maybe it was the essence of faith - to keep going when you're afraid.  
  
But if even one person believes in you, can you really afford to let them down?  
... And though he couldn't remember names, he felt that, _once,_ there'd been more than one person, who believed in him...  
  
"Sorry. I'm all right. This is where – huh."  
  
It came uninvited, but welcome.  
  
"When we die, most of our dead are given back to the earth. We place them in the ground, and hope that we'll remember from their mistakes, and what made them happy. That - that whatever we believed in, those of us who believe, that it'll look after them. Wherever they might go. Sometimes - flowers and, and trees grow amongst them, too."  
  
He gulped back air, and licked his lips, and met her eyes.  
  
"I guess someone here, or maybe the past residents or, or I don't know; maybe we made it farther than I thought, than any of us thought. If you don't mind, I'd like to take a moment, and... Gather my thoughts. Pray, I think."  
  
She cast her gaze to one of the smaller monuments; barely a quarter of his height, let alone hers. And Hyphen loped over to it, circling around as if unbelieving that such a tiny stone could mean so very much.  
  
But the lingering heat of her gaze returned to him, time and again, and in the wordlessness of her response, she said as much - and for perhaps an hour, he remained amongst the graves in the little corner of Elsewhere that seemed disconnected from everything else they'd seen so far.  
  
After some time, she crept over to him, and lowered herself further to the ground, and placed her head against his shoulder.  
  
"Sorry. I hope that wasn't too much time. I kind of figured you'd be opposed to this sorta thing..."  
  
He murmured, half-laughing.  
And he felt he'd finished, though he remembered the motions more than the reason behind his prayers; and yet, somehow, he felt that if anything, if anyone cared - they would forgive him this.  
  
"Oh! It is because I am from Deimos. How wretched!"  
  
She chided, gently, and he shook his head.  
  
"Nah. It's because you're a scientist, and I mean, it's a stupid stereotype, but I figure not a lot of scientists are, you know, pious..."  
  
"And I told you I'm not."  
  
"Yeah, that too."  
  
"But I don't really care what I am. You respect me. I respect you. We're both. Both alone, here..."  
  
"Yeah... Yeah..."  
  
He shut his eyes again, and just reclined in the warmth of her against him. His hand crept around her side, and she rose from the soil; rising over where he sat, sleek and chitinous.  
But her warmth was breathing, and her breathing was warmth; and inhuman as it was, she was near to him.  
  
The pause in her breathing as he held her tightly sung to him, though he could not bring himself to do more in a place like this; even as he wanted desperately just to hold her, and to never let go, or open his eyes -  
  
"All right. Hyphen. I - this isn't an easy question to ask, but - "  
  
"Please. You can ask me anything."  
  
"How long do your people live."  
  
"... We are immortal!"  
  
The glee in her voice belied the hesitance in his, and Gerald felt he should've known and expected such an answer - but laughed all the same.  
  
"No, really. How long do you live?"  
  
"Perhaps, a very long time. Maybe immortal, but Deimos is very brutal. Even without tyranny. I do not know anyone who lived. To old age..."  
  
"That's - that's awful."  
  
"I would have disagreed, I think. Sometime ago."  
  
She cooed, quietly, and rose to her full height.  
  
"But you cannot think of leaving me here, alone. Truly alone. Because I am not alone with you, and if I were truly alone, I would resent you for it. Terribly."  
  
"I won't."  
  
His body protested as he rose from the ground, trailing dirt behind him. The uniform he'd taken had was now all but a shadow of its former glory; and if he were a representative of the green planet, he didn't feel as if he was off to making a good first impression.  
  
But he was certain, too. Even as the memories were gone and faded, even as he couldn't place _why_ he felt so certain...  
  
"The only thing that's carried me so far is the hope that maybe I could... Could turn back time, somehow. Save - everyone I wanted to save."  
  
Farther than the graveyards was a small reflecting pool, filled with crystalline waters. Nothing fed into it, yet nothing had drained it, and Hyphen stared at it dismissively, even though he'd gotten good enough at reading her expressions that he could tell she _wanted_ to stick her head in the water, and see the tiny shapes darting within.  
  
"Even if I can't do that, even if that - that fails, though. I'm gonna help you. And, and me. And Marianne and Masterson and - and anyone, who I can. That might be all I can do, but the moment I stop trying, I mean..."  
  
"Then you should know I only wanted to live."  
  
Hyphen whispered, the words trilling from her lipless mouth before sinking against a breeze that wasn't and glancing upon waves that weren't.  
  
"And time after time, I felt fond of you, but that we would die. I was certain. But, but confident, too. It is a hypocrisy I cannot reconcile or explain. Maybe there is no explanation."  
  
She cast her foot against a loose stone that faltered into the pool, sending tiny things that might have been the fish of this place, aeons ago, scattering in every direction.  
Eventually, however, the pool stopped rippling, and the tiny forms investigated the fallen rock, curiously.   
  
Perhaps, Gerald mused, they were not so different than the two of them.  
  
"But I! I believe in us. I believe more in myself, because of you. All I want to do, wanted to do is to leave. And now I find myself thinking beyond that, and it is now, and frightening, but good. I know it is good."  
  
Hyphen tensed, breathing caught against the emptiness of this place.  
A clatter of teeth signaled that she was about to laugh - her laughter, the kind that no human could match, though he wouldn't stop for trying.  
  
"Well. What I'm trying to say is. Failing with you does not scare me."  
  
And she said a bit more than that, but he didn't need to hear it to know it.  
  
Beyond the reflecting pool, a small mausoleum had been erected; it was clearly designed to be another grave or crypt of some kind, and yet there was an immediate abscess in the stone, a grate in reality that caught the eye the moment he saw it.  
  
In the depths of that tiny mausoleum swam uncountable stars, twinkling merrily.  
  
He remembered a similar sight, and trembled.  
  
... But there was a gentle presence there, and in his soul, and at his side.  
And he hoped - he believed.  
  
There was no more room for fear.  
  
"I've seen one of these before, Hyphen. Umn. I, can't remember everything that happened the last time I stepped through one, but, it was with Masterson, and uh..."  
  
"Well! I'm not going to shoot you!"  
  
Gerald sputtered into laughter that he couldn't contain, especially when Hyphen (badly) pantomimed shooting him with an invisible gun that, despite her exposure to human weaponry, he somehow felt certain wouldn't pass basic muster.  
  
"All right, but - the presence is... It feels like heaven, to me."  
  
"To me, it is just lights. So even if you are frightened, I will protect you."  
  
"... Okay, well, fine, but - if it ends up in front of a place with a pearly gate, please don't. I mean, do, but... OooooooOoh..."  
  
"Don't worry. Gerald... I promise I will only get you out of trouble."  
  
She muttered 'I hope' in a click of her teeth afterwards, but that was enough for him.  
Gerald reached for her hand and brought it to his lips; and the chitin was smooth and familiar.  
  
"All right then. I'm counting on you, Hyphen. Together?"  
  
"Together."  
  
Beyond the sea of stars dwelled a blackness that was full of fear, and hope, and awe.   
He felt as if he was swimming through it, but his body was not present; like the lights had been turned out of the last building in the last city, and with them had died sound and sense.  
  
Wave after wave of gentleness buoyed him against the dark, and he was aware of something at the edge of his vision, but felt no fear; for even as the ruined palace they had left was devoured and destroyed by the falling ravages of time, this too was natural - and all things were, and would be.  
  
Fragments of new stars were, faltered, and died; and he awoke in the last remnants of a light soft and all-enveloping as the flash of a camera against aged parchment.  
  
The nausea soon passed, but not the tears.  
  
Hyphen had arrived a little before him, despite their hands having been interlocked, and helped back to his feet, until the shaking had left his legs and the dry heaving had left his lungs, and at some point - at some point...  
  
She began to croon a strange, alien tune. And - it was incredibly stupid, but...  
  
He wanted to believe that the tune might possibly match the tune he'd whistled before, even as notes filtered unfamiliar into the decaying brightness around them.  
  
Light faded, and returned to normal, and the glare left his eyes.   
Hyphen had shut hers, the song - the lullaby, he felt, _knowing_ it even without the aid of the rune, or her device, and yet _knowing it_ within his soul - having meant as much to her as it had to him.  
  
And it took him quite some time for his breathing to return to, but not quite so long for his blood to began racing and his heart with it, every breath seeming to quicken his pulse.  
  
Dirt and wood commingled against one another, burrowing through the hollowed out husks of what might have been corpses, corpses and skeletal remains from great beasts that once had held coats of white wool.  
  
Ruddied-clawed fiends that had leapt through the air, seeking death with blades of skin and bone, grew ground up and impaled through roots in great dirt walls; and the roots pulsed and thrummed with life, as they had under the tiles of the old palace before, as they had _**all throughout Elsewhere.  
  
**_ Armor, rusted and discarded, had been ground down to nothing by the passing of time; only so much copper to feed back into the dirt and perhaps one day to be converted to new soils... Or even stones.  
  
In front of them, beckoning without any runes or adornments, were wooden double-doors.  
They were homey, and gentle, and like any you might find in a home, and Gerald shook, unable to fight the second round of nausea.  
  
"Oh, oh God..."  
  
He whispered, without knowing the reason for his fear.  
  
Then a red light that dispelled what was left of the haze at his vision burst into being, Hyphen throwing herself around his neck, and clinging to him, tightly. Her fire hang languidly from her wrist to the floor, sparks dancing merrily in the air; undaunted by the long-dead corpses of Elsewhere.  
  
 _You are alive._   
The flame whispered, and he knew it to be true.  
  
"Are you going to be able to continue..."  
  
She whispered, but he had already found his answer.  
Turning to embrace her, Gerald burnt the memory of the kiss onto his mind, promising himself never to forget the ashen heat of her, nor the pressure of teeth as white as bone, nor the glitter of her eyes as he pulled back.  
  
"Yeah. Let's go, Hyphen."  
  
And her hands met his, and the wooden doors in front of them opened - to the rhythm of the soil, beckoning them within.

 


	30. E4M4 - Eldest God, Interred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beyond my outstretched hand is proof.   
> Proof of countless worlds where humanity could survive, thrive, even.  
> All thought beyond our reach - and now, in the palm of our hand.
> 
> Look upon them, folks, and wonder.   
> This is the culmination of all we've worked and hoped for.  
> It's not necessary to say, but I'm going to say it all the same -  
> Beyond the reach of my hand here, lies all hope for the future of earth.  
> ~

[Beyond the wooden doors that had shut and snapped inwards upon themselves, lay an endless sea of color.](https://youtu.be/O0pyWYZweOE)  
  
Rich and varied plants, more plants than she had ever thought herself able to imagine, let alone name, blossomed and rose from the ground itself; some bearing great crops of fruit or flower. And from the trunks of mighty trees that were colored white and brown and red and black, hung vines that blew gently against a breeze that was not -  
  
Letting fly a storm of polyps and petals that swayed before falling to the ground around them.  
  
Hyphen cavorted amidst the branches for some time, unable to contain her excitement; it was like having discovered something new fresh out of the creche, and she knew with a jealous pride that she was most likely the first to do so; first, and last of all of Deimos, at least.  
  
Overcome with awe at the way the blossoms stuck with tiny tendrils to her carapace, before falling back into the soil which they fed with their own decay, it was all too easy to miss, but...  
  
Gerald's hand had grown colder. Cold, clammy as any human, as his fingers had been when first they met.  
  
And Hyphen forced the awe from her mind, shook off the simple happiness at being surrounded by such beauty, and turned to face him.  
  
It was not sorrow, exactly, that stretched over his face. He was watching the colors twirl amidst them with the same awe, and - and contentness.  
  
Not happiness, she knew. No.   
The way his eyes had receded, downcast; and he drew his lips terse, the way that he did when he did not want to say what he felt, and she could understand the why of it, but wished for anything she might say, and hated how at the moment all she could think of to distract him was -  
  
Unfilmed, her eyes darted from the ground to the ceiling, avoiding his.  
  
There was no ceiling - exactly. But occasionally, flecks of dirt fell from above, from a great distance. She could imagine that perhaps this entire place was a gigantic sphere of fields built in upon itself, but the energy and dedication necessary to create such a thing seemed... Pointless.  
Full of showmanship.  
  
Still. It was something.  
And she decided to speak of her guess, that it was all artificial despite the _naturalness of it,_ despite the fact that even having never set foot amidst such vibrant greenery, she felt it must have been grown - grown without the binding that they used in Deimos, merely grown from the soil.   
  
Alone and unaided.  
  
"Something so beautiful, and it's still - still designed to lure us in, isn't it."  
  
He cut her off, then trailed off, gaze falling from the blossoms, to her neck, to the ground.  
She caught his fingers tightly, wishing with all her might that the fire she felt might transfer to him, somehow; but Gerald looked as if he might just sit and fall amidst the soil -  
  
 _And the worst part is, she could not help but wonder if that might not be nice.  
  
_ But her discipline had prepared for such doubts, and as beautiful as the sight was, this place was alien to her; and what allure it held was alien too.   
It was not like the metal and stone of Deimos, and however cleverly Elsewhere had constructed it, it seemed it could only ensnare the one of them.  
  
Fiercely, Hyphen decided that she would not let it steal him away.  
  
Crawling to the ground, on all floors, she paced around him, quietly, until his confusion had turned to exasperation at her silence, and then nervous laughter.  
  
When he laughed, she rose up and over him - head tilted to the side, black eyes shut.  
  
"Everything here was designed. Built to trap us. All of us."  
  
She could feel with her breath the intoxicating strangeness of the white fluff that stuck to her carapace before drifting off as easily as tiny tenterhooks would allow; and how strange it was, the drifting bloom of the overhanging tree...  
  
"Yet, we're here. We made it here. To stop and wait here alone would be..."  
  
She could _feel_ him smiling. It was strange, Hyphen decided, knowing that someone would smile - especially human smiles, which were disarmament as opposed to shows of strength (mostly). But the familiarity of it came with a reassurance.  
  
And it felt - incredibly pleasant - to imagine a smile before you saw it with your open eyes.  
  
"Well, yeah, I suppose you're right. Wouldn't make a lot of sense to let Elsewhere win after we've got this far. It's just - really beautiful."  
  
He brought his hand over his face, rubbing at the tired lines where his skin had grown taut, and weathered. She traced the lines his fingers had traced, and said nothing.  
  
Still, the flowers around them sung.  
  
"There are things about it I love. But it is also different. Is earth much like this..."  
  
"Honestly I - I can't recall for the life of me. But, I - I've missed it so much that I feel like it must have been like this, ages and ages ago. Can you smell it? The warm grass, the pollen and the breeze, the flutter of wings..."  
  
She knew the last one wasn't a scent he might smell, but the memory seemed to have brought a change over him; and Gerald closed his eyes, and smiled; it was his turn to say nothing, and she did not feel like forcing him to continue, right then.  
  
But his comment had raised a question she hadn't been able to help but notice, even as they'd wandered through the idylls of what she felt very certain was a shrine - of some manner.  
  
"It's very quiet. Do you feel it's truly just the two. The two of us."  
  
Her chittering was more nervous than she'd intended - of course, it was pleasant to be truly alone in Elsewhere, but - as much as she enjoyed loneliness, the idea of them being the only two sentient beings left alive...  
  
Gerald's eyes jolted open, and he took a deep breath.  
The life and light returned to him, and he held his fingers under his chin, grinning wryly.  
  
"Can't say I know for sure, but it does seem awfully weird. If there's really nothing left here besides us, I guess we've 'won' - but, what then. I mean - where do we go from here?"  
  
Being trapped in such peaceful a place didn't seem awful, but; there were no boundaries here.  
If this, too, was a trap, it was the worst kind - a trap borne of freedom.   
Long ago had the doors they'd left disappeared, if ever they'd been truly present -   
  
And the fields stretched in every direction, vast and unending.  
  
She inhaled deeply the floral scents, and hoped she might remember them all.  
  
"I will not. Believe that it is just us. And don't you think that this, too..."  
  
Her whispers grew more forceful as the ideas burned within the wheel of her mind.  
Clearly, Elsewhere had realized they'd keep going; whether to find the runes, or to find a way home, or simply to see what there was to see.  
So -  
  
"If. If you cannot stop an enemy by opposing them. Perhaps you can win them over. More gently!"  
  
And around them, the unfiltered air laughed as if the flowers themselves, and all the vines of the trees and even the pulsing earth itself were amused by her determined proclomation.  
  
But Hyphen _knew_ she was right.  
  
Gerald 'hrmned' and knelt against one knee, and she wondered if he imagined it to make him look more serious; it didn't, but she liked this side of him very much, and much more so than the worry he'd held moments before.  
Elsewhere would not defeat them with this strategy, either.  
  
"Not impossible! But I mean, if that's what the place is out to do, I guess we just gotta keep going. Where, though - I mean, look. It's like there's a maze around us, and as far as I can tell, there's no end to it in sight."  
  
She found his hand with hers, and her warm carapace took the cold smoothness of his skin, weaving it between her fingertips.  
  
It wasn't as if she had an idea of where to go, herself - merely the knowledge that they had to move, and if they didn't, she might give up too.  
Around them, flowers that might as well have been the lava-dwelling single-celled lifeforms that dwelled in the deep vents of Deimos watched them pass, dispassionately.  
  
But underneath them, the ground began to change.  
  
Slowly, so slowly as not to draw alarm. And perhaps it had been hours, or even days - but she did not feel tired or hungry here, and it was clear that neither did he.  
  
The soil, however, grew more and more barren.   
Not lifeless; though the trees were first to disappear, vanishing upon the horizon so that they might not be seen even when she turned her head against her shoulder, looking back upon lines of brown.  
  
Next went the flowers, and then the lichens, and mosses, and all the tiny sprouts that sought to crook their tiny shoots up from the dirt underfoot.  
  
Finally, the soil itself - which had been so soft as if to feel composed of air - became thicker, more wet and springy.   
Her misstep, in retrospect, was something she should've expected.  
  
The hungry earth made a squelching hiss as it collapsed upon itself, dragging her down with it.  
Gerald's fire had come back to his eyes, however, and even as she fell towards the open pit in the field beneath, his fingers found hers, and did not let go.  
  
Wiping flecks of dirt from her shoulderspikes, Hyphen hissed - the soil making a bubbling noise that was no response to her.  
  
"I'd never forgive myself if we got this far to die to a sinkhole."  
  
His eyes twinkled merrily, as if there were some story there - though she imagined from the slight sorrow it was one he must barely recall.  
  
"That's why I'm counting on you. To protect me."  
  
And he kept laughing, even as they approached the pool.  
  
Unlike those in the ruined palace above - if it had _been_ located above - this was so deep as to have no apparent end to it.   
  
Blocks of crumbling, white-yellow stone that looked almost as if it'd been carved from sand itself kept the water from leaking over into the soil; but it was clear that whatever invisible aquifer fed into it also chipped away at the very ground they strode upon.  
  
(Hyphen paused to hiss at the pool here, too, but only because she enjoyed Gerald's laughter.)  
  
... Then, his face clouded over slightly, and she wondered if she'd made a mistake.  
His hand settled upon her shoulder, briefly; tightly squeezing it as if she might run away.  
And then, determinedly, he strode to the pool and dunked his head into it.  
  
Admittedly, she hadn't made much sense in the angry, nervous, horrified chittering that followed; but just as admittedly, she knew that he'd emerge unscathed. Gerald shook his head, flecks of water falling from his hair and beard, a look of pleased surprise on his face.  
  
Rubbing the water from under his nose, he lowered his lips to the pool, and drank – deeply.  
  
"... Huh. It's definitely safe, and... I know this is gonna sound awful, but, Hyphen - "  
  
 _For, she'd felt the same compulsion, herself.  
  
_ Nervous with all the reasoning that ached in whatever cultural memory the more pious might put stock in, Hyphen teetered from leg to leg, before ever-so-cautiously risking a cursory lap at the water.

... And it did not stick, like water did; but was intensely sweet.  
  
She drunk again, and blinked several times.  
  
"Curious. A well, maybe?"  
  
"I don't think so. And I mean, it fits into another question I've been thinking about. Have you noticed any - ah. Dang. Insects, bugs... Pollinators. Things that make an, a sweet substance. Like this; you'd think you'd need them to create such a lively ecosystem."  
  
He snapped his fingers against one another a few times, desperately trying to recall the words he'd lost; but though there were nothing quite like that on Deimos, the idea wasn't alien as the flowers themselves were.  
  
"Mmn. But if they aren't present, than this serves no purpose. I suppose."  
  
"Nah. I think it's another trap, but one kind of like the type you'd mentioned. Think about it. There's pretty much everything we need, and everything I want here. It's marketing. Er, if you've got anything like that back home..."  
  
And there was an alien term, though she understood it; and the idea of a tyrant trying to 'sell' their vision of the world to the other denizens they wished to compel was quite amusing.  
But she could twist it, like all things could be twisted, so that she might understand it -   
  
For it was not so strange to imagine promises of things to come being used to sway the undecided and feverishly isolationist, much as she had been swayed.  
  
"So! You think this is part of Elsewhere's plans to make us settle for this peaceful land. I prefer this side of Elsewhere."  
  
Hyphen had meant it as a joke, but Gerald cast his fingers into the pool and pulled them free, letting water tumble between them.  
  
"Yeah, but I don't. It's much more insidious, because we're both tired. And it'd be awfully easy to give up, wouldn't it... Hyphen."  
  
She tensed up, rising to her full height.  
  
"I'm gonna go take a dive here. Watch over me, all right? I - "  
  
"Promise. I shall be here for you."  
  
"Right."  
  
His breath was quickening, and she watched the way he drew each breath in against his skin, before drawing close to him until the shaking stopped.  
  
"It shall be like before. You watched over me in fire, and I shall not let water stop you."  
  
The blue of his eyes was not like the water, even half-lidded. But his smile seemed as peaceful as it, and even if his smile was like an ocean, she did not hate that.  
  
"Okay, then - I'm gonna do this..!"  
  
She watched as his figure vanished under the clear and receding ripples, until there was no trace of his presence under the glistening pool. She could not understand the lack of fear his people must feel towards the killing evil that was water, even _if_ this pool seemed an exception.  
  
But she had faith in him, and wondered (and hoped) that she had looked as gallant, before.  
  
Yet time passed, and Hyphen began to grow nervous, wandering around the edges of the yellow-white stone as if kicking her claws free might makes the time pass more quickly.  
  
It dragged on, and she pulled herself to the ground, wishing that the flowers were still visible.  
  
Her eyes shut.  
  
The sound of gasping awoke her from half-memories and hazy dreams of the creche, of magma-blossoms with their strands of neon light shining for a fraction of a fragmented section before dying, of metal, and of conquest.  
  
Gerald had returned, panting, but looking proud of himself.  
  
"Okay! There are airpockets and the like, and a building way beyond. We're gonna have to risk it. Can you - "  
  
"Of course...!"  
  
She whispered, and after he'd regained his breath, they dove into the water.  
  
It was as easy to swim through as slow magma, though she could still feel the constriction of her breath. Maybe it wasn't water even, but some other compound; and not for the first time she wished she understood **dynamics** enough to know the meaning of why it only drifted by, peacefully.  
  
The deep of the pool swept up and under into another chamber, gilded with a soft phosphorescence that dwelled unpleasantly against her eyes. He swept himself onto it, and pulled her after him, lips curling into a broad smile at the way she shook the water free.  
  
"Guess even this is too much for you?"  
  
"No."  
  
She admitted, surprising herself.  
  
"I'm not sure why, however. I do not like or trust it, but - it was not unpleasant. I remain unconvinced. That this isn't part of some, some trap. Nnrgh!"  
  
"Yeah, I hear you. But I feel like we're at least on the right path."  
  
And the ceiling here was such that Gerald had to crouch low, too. Twinges of concern flooded her mind that he must see her posture as humorous; but then, she liked the embarrassed way he kept casting glances back at her, so - did it matter, truly..?  
  
The entire chamber - antechamber - was built of the same odd stone, a carved awning before them opening into what seemed to be a large series of tunnels -  
  
Which had grown from solid wood, or roots.  
  
And they were intensely beautiful, even as the light fell beyond them, and she carefully held her fire close to her chest; for fear that something might burn away.  
  
"Hyphen."  
  
Gerald began, and his voice was a quiet whisper.  
  
"You can put that out."  
  
"But!"  
  
"It's all right. You're here with me, right?"  
  
And the fire vanished as her hand took his, and she led him through the lightless maze of rootways.  
  
She could feel the fear in him; no matter the changes and strength he had, dark and night seemed to be some primal fear for humans, or perhaps just Gerald. But there was nothing here that seemed...  
  
That seemed.  
  
Claws dug into earth as her train of thought skittered to a halt; she threw her arms wide, and Gerald crashed into her, taking a few uneasy backsteps as she intoned a clattering challenge.  
  
Beyond the two of them, the rootways opened up into a huge and open panorama; the ceiling was blue, and black, and filled with stars - countless stars, and she could recognize Deimos amongst them. And she could also recognize the shambling forms, low to the ground, of other things - things moving, things not responding, things...  
  
One of the shapes lunged towards them. Hyphen rolled to the side and sent her shoulderspike free, impaling the withered hulk of -  
  
 _Her eyes shuttered and opened rapidly in a nervous terror she had not felt for ages as the drained and long dead parody of something that might have looked like her, long ago, slid down against her spike; chitin cutting free and shedding no ichor.  
  
It fell to the floor, twitching before being consumed by the ash and shoot all voyagers from Deimos were engulfed by.  
  
_The foolhardy courage that had engulfed her evaporated and Hyphen wailed and ran around the open chamber, clinging to walls and unwilling to look at the shapes chasing her, even now.  
  
She could hear the blunt crack of something striking one, and knew it must be Gerald; but it sounded a weak blow, hesitant and unskilled - something that would not stun, let alone kill, or rekill, or -  
  
But that had never been the intent.   
  
Against a floor that sounded as if it had been composed of dry leaves, she could hear Gerald's footfall as he ran; the worn boots crunching with every step as he approached.  
  
His hands found hers, and they ran, the revenants lurching uneasily behind them, and then vanishing under the great starspackled canopy.  
  
Finally, Gerald seemed to grow exhausted, and crashed to a halt himself; bent over and panting.  
She could not say for how long they'd ran.  
  
"You... All right?"  
  
Were his first words, unconcerned with the multiple rows of red marks against his neck, bloody gashes that just as easily could have come from _her_ -  
  
"I. I."  
  
Hyphen whispered, and then said nothing at all.  
  
... Gerald grinned confidentially, and rubbed the back of his neck.  
  
"Oh, don't worry about this. I've never been good in crowds, I think. Uh, and I probably through the first punch, that time. I'll apologize if we get the chance."  
  
She couldn't help it; her body shook a little, and she opened her mouth to laugh - and felt fear that he might recoil.

But he knelt up to her, and placed his lips to her shaking fangs, and she laughed more.  
  
"You are so. Thank you - thank you."  
  
"Seriously. Hyphen. You'll hold?"  
  
"I. Yes. It was to be expected. After all."  
  
"... Yeah. Guess so. This place is beautiful, though."  
  
And it was, too; if this whole thing had been designed as some sort of inner sanctum, then this was the most lovingly crafted part of it yet. No - if Elsewhere was a vision that it wanted to portray upon them, her mind felt certain that this was its culmination.  
  
She could recall blue fungus in her dreams, though where she'd seen them she was not certain.  
  
But here, blue pillars grew upwards along the roots; and shone gently and protectively as the grown sphere of stars above them. The roots grew more natural, too; rising as if they'd been carefully tended to, trimmed and encouraged to form great archways that were easy for the both of them to walk under.  
  
And so they did, under arch after arch lined with open blooms of red, and white, and pink.  
  
"... Holy shit."  
  
Gerald murmured, and then blushed profusely.  
  
"Sorry!"  
  
"You know I don't care at all. About that."  
  
Hyphen then proudly intimated several of the words that his kind (for some reason) attached great cultural insight into; how strange it was that their curses all seemed to be about basic bodily functions?  
And he continued to go redder still, muttering something about that being quite unnecessary -  
  
So she stopped of course.

She had no desire to tease him, not truly.  
  
... The air down here was still fresh, despite the fact - the illusion of a fact? - that it felt as if they were deep at home, underground. Ah, for _her_ , Hyphen corrected herself.  
  
"Eh, this might be the worst possible time, Hyphen, but..."  
  
All the possibilities of what could go wrong shone like electricity in her mind.  
What if the wound had grown infected, or that rune had whispered that it might?  
What if there were something else that rendered him incapable or, or wounded, or -  
  
What if he... After this time, had -  
  
"Don't laugh, well, unless it's _that_ laugh, but - "  
  
Under the blue light, he stared at her, unblinking.

And he swallowed, and held out his hand.  
  
"I can't really think of a better place to try to dance."  
  
Under the archways of roots and flowers, two pairs of feet cut lines in the dirt and fallen wood against the ground.   
She followed him uneasily, trying to match his movements - at first.  
  
But the light around them was blue, and calming. Before she knew it, he'd taken both of her hands and had begun leading her on in a ridiculous - there was no way humans considered prancing about so amusing, because if they did -  
  
Well, it wasn't entirely unlike how _she_ moved, was it?  
  
And so she swept him off of _his_ feet, and capered against the clinging blue, until he was laughing, until they were both laughing and fallen to the ground.  
  
She was not, she decided, a very good dancer - but she would like to do so, again.  
  
"I don't know if I've got a cake for us. Sorry."  
  
Gerald mumbled, and brushed a strand of hair from his face.

(She pulled it back down, and he muttered again, launching a war of fingers that had no lasting consequence.)  
  
"Then I shall accept it. Later. When we're home."  
  
"Yeah. Home."  
  
Above them, the blue light faded, as whatever light filtered into the rows of fungus above fed out of them; perhaps some bioelectricity, she mused, feeling the exhaustion of so many days of - of this, rushing over her.  
  
"Forward, then?"  
  
She whispered.  
  
And there was no other way.

 


	31. E4M5 - Via Atria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Observation has long told us that the moon that moves away from the sun;  
> but our celebrity news team has unearthed a shocking new theory that proposes the inverse.  
> Expect more right after our top ten -
> 
> Breaking: Live footage. Viewer discretion advised.  
> We're receiving – well, just take a look outside your windows, people.  
> The sky – what's going on with the sky...?!  
> ~

[It was if a terrarium had been made that composed every cross-section of Elsewhere that they'd visited.](http://halloween.ambient-mixer.com/the-furnace)  
  
Glass, or something like glass, something that made an odd _squelching_ noise whenever he stepped on it, coated the floor. Beneath it shone brilliant red rivers of magma that pressed finely between panes; and beneath that were bricks and stones of various color, tiny microbiomes familiar and yet forgotten.  
  
Kneeling down, Gerald tapped the glass with his fingers; it made a strange humming whir, but did nothing else.   
  
Above, lights that shone an electric blue fought for dominance with the faltering yellow dieback of the lava underneath; and in front of them was a grand passageway, or what must have once been a grand passageway.  
  
Burning orange currents pockmarked by near-imperceptible spires of metal the texture of wood carved an uneasy pathway for somebody who had the feet of an angel, and one that was used to tap-dancing at that.  
  
Gerald's uneasy train of thought noted that beyond the drop and the merrily simmering magma, however, a small ledge of uneven stone beckoned forth; and he could _feel_ the rune trembling with life beside him, urging them onwards.  
  
…

  
“I can make the jump. Between the two of us. But. But.”  
  
“Hyphen, if I fall through that – I'm toast. And as much as I'd like to think I'm pretty, uh, light on my feet...”  
  
At least she was laughing.  
Gerald grinned complacently, scratching at his chin – and the roots of ideas.  
  
“Looks almost as if there are wheels there – for a retractable bridge, maybe. Before we get too crazy, d'you think we should look around?”  
  
“Could it do us any more harm? Then it already has.”  
  
She ground her teeth against one another and stood _almost_ straight; hands against her hips.   
And he'd gotten quite good at picking up on her own, peculiar, Hyphenated brand of humor -  
  
But, actually...  
  
“Yeah, I agree. I don't think there's a lot of danger around here, and somehow I feel like we're – we're close. Not sure what to exactly, but it could always be more danger, so there's that.”  
  
Gerald _did_ allow himself a grin at her irritated and chirpy reply; but as she fell back to the ground and circled around the glass floor, striking at various points with foot and claw, his smile fell, and he waited.  
  
Her response was some time in coming, and the heat rising from beneath occasionally created the illusion of dew underneath their feet.  
  
“All right. We shall risk it. It just feels as if we're so close now – and I do not. I do not...”  
  
The coin he'd found in the pocket of his uniform had survived several falls, combat damage, erosion, and the ravages of gum residue; he had no idea who the figure on one bronzed side of it was supposed to be, but decided they were probably a famous writer, or poet.  
  
“We'll be okay, Hyphen. Heads we go left; tails we go right.”  
  
Bronze glinted in blue light, ten eyes watching a tiny glimmer for the trail of its fall.  
  
Some famous poet, or possibly a writer, stared up at them from against the glass; with no human left, perhaps who would know or remember their name.  
  
“Left it is, then; guess we're lucky! Here's hoping we're even more lucky, and it's just a – a winch, or something, and that the bridge isn't too worn out – “  
  
“Why would it be. So easy? Even if something _is_ guiding us.”  
  
And two pairs of feet, one cautiously tapping spikes against transparent glass, and the other encased in worn boots that had seen what felt as years of travel in the blink of days, strode next to one another.  
  
Greeting them was what appeared to be a – a monastery cellula of some kind.   
He couldn't help but grin again, and Gerald felt certain that whatever was creating Elsewhere – if something was, and if it was even the same thing, or things, guiding them – was messing with the two of them.  
  
“You look elated again. I am fearful it's another – “  
  
“Maybe, but I don't think so. Uhmn, my – the way I interpret the name of – the way I see heaven is different than a lot of other humans. But some of us gathered in these huge buildings, cathedrals...”  
  
He struggled to remember and explain the differences between thousands of years of religious history, division, and unity, Hyphen capering in front of him and rising to her hind legs; the spikes behind her heels tapping pleasantly as she strode backwards.  
  
… She was mocking him again, wasn't she?  
  
“Yesyesyes. It sounds very interesting! But I'm more concerned about. Earthly matters.”  
  
“Generally,” he began dryly, “Assassins do not hide out in places of – holy places. Uh, I remember my... Someone telling me about this one priest, though, who, uh...”  
  
The interior of the cellula was littered with trash; bits of plastic, condiment bottles, wrappers from what were unmistakably fast-food 'sandwiches', and other things that he couldn't quite place – but could certainly _smell._  
  
“Huh.”  
  
Beyond the refuse were more roots; roots bursting through pews, tile, stone and glass with impunity. Some had started to rot, as well; their own scent sickly-sweet as any dying thing, though he had not recalled roots smelling so strongly on... On...  
He was brought out of his reverie by Hyphen tugging at his sleeve with patient persistence; all of her eyes glittering with amusement.   
  
“Crud, er, sorry – how long was I out of it..?”  
  
“Not long. I am easily amused, however. But I do think there's something else here. Of interest.”  
  
She skittered over to one of the stone walls, which looked as if they had once borne posters for various bands or – or whatever posters advertised. Their adhesive remains were all that was left, however – for the moment.  
  
… Hyphen eased a long claw into the stone, eyes shut.  
  
“Well. There's no secret passage to it. Alas. But I! I am certain! There is definitely a place beyond this that. That feels like home...!”  
  
And her giddiness was infectious, but –  
  
“Y'know... Why haven't we seen more stuff like your old stomping ground? I can't imagine Deimos is more natural to Elsewhere than... Uh...”  
  
“I do not know.”  
  
Hyphen confessed, quietly – removing her hand from the wall and staring up at the ceiling.  
There were no lights, here, but the distant and hazy yellow gleam of fire returned her gaze.  
  
“Don't worry about it – do you think we should investigate, though? I mean, there's clearly not much else here, and I don't really feel like trucking back after we flipped a coin for it – “  
  
“Yesyesyes!”  
  
She pointedly looked away.  
  
“I mean. Please.”  
  
“Awfully nice of you.”  
  
“Well, I am! Very nice...”  
  
They took turns striking the wall; despite the appearance of aged rock, it felt more like putty, or clay; and didn't chip off but _oozed_ an unpleasant substance that Gerald soon decided he did not want anywhere near his fingers, or any exposed skin.  
  
But thankfully, the facade collapsed soon enough, exposing what appeared to be one of the emergency shelters they'd had back on – back when...   
Those buildings, made of fabric and wire, you could build them anywhere.  
  
He'd talked to a man in one, received some physicals, had records checked –   
  
“Gerald..?”  
  
She whispered, gently, and he shook the fog from his mind for the second time.  
It was strange how quickly it'd settled over him, but – there was no point in clinging to it.  
  
“I'm fine; let's keep going.”  
  
Around them, wind filtered through the billowing yellow fabric of the emergency structures; making them looking as if they were dancing.  
Hyphen questioningly held a claw to the fabric, and after a moment's reflection, he nodded his assent.  
  
She struck the fabric, and then hissed – rather adorably, he felt – and swung her hand against the air.  
  
“Ah. Not. Not what I expected.”  
  
“You all right..?”  
  
“Fine! Mmn. But why was the rock so smooth, and the fabric so. So.”  
  
“That's Elsewhere for you; although, I've got an idea floating around in my head...”  
  
Pushing through the last tunneled exit bolstered by illusory wind, he nearly tripped over his own feet; rocks striking against one another and tumbling into an awning abyss lit by distant, roaring fires.   
They'd exited the emergency tunnels onto a wide cliff-face; and all around them, the rocks shone in various shades of metallic hues.  
  
Blue-black stone seemed to be the predominant shade, composing most all of the vista around them; but he could also see distant veins of colors almost as light as green, or pink.  
There was a very uneasy 'path' down into the vast pit beneath, easily as wide as a small field –  
  
And Hyphen chittered gleefully, practically throwing herself around his neck at the sight of it.  
  
“Home! Well, not home. But! Well. Ah.”  
  
… And what emotions played across her face in the span of a moment.  
  
Gerald wondered for a moment if he'd looked similar at any point throughout their travels. He knew that he must have – perhaps only for awhile, for a moment. But to see her joy turn to uncertainty, and regret...  
  
“Hey. I think it looks – really amazing. Even if it is only a pale imitation.”  
  
It was measured, and neutral – as cautious as any response he'd given. Even with everything they'd been through, Gerald wasn't certain that the huge rising columns of black stone looked welcoming to him; but he hoped...  
  
But the blackness of her eyes was far more fierce than stone, and she did not blink.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Hyphen whispered, and Gerald gave her waist a tight squeeze – wondering if half of the gestures he meant as affectionate – even, if they even –  
  
“No problem. I'm sure when we make it back to the real deal – you'll treat me right.”  
  
“Perhaps. I might be inclined to just vanish with you. Down a vent. _AHAHAHAHA!”  
  
_ “Scary stuff. I guess I can live with that, though...”  
  
The descent was as frightening, though he was careful not to show it. The treacherous black stone was smooth, and designed for four legs that could be used as pitons, if need arose.   
Hyphen navigated it easily and nimbly, pausing every few steps ahead of him.  
  
It didn't take him long to realize that she was bracing for impact if he fell – and he was grateful, but regretted how ungainly he looked next to the lithe blades of her spikes finding easy purchase against the stone of her faux-homeland.  
  
But after an eternity of climbing, they fell onto a smooth and open field, porous stone and glassy metal tiles; and the tiles had calcified naturally, easily, in that geometric manner that geologists and photographers alike found so alluring –   
  
“You're. You're looking distant. Again.”  
  
The worry in her voice wasn't enough, at first.  
  
“Gerald. Please.”  
  
“Sorry. I don't know why it keeps happening.”  
  
He growled, feeling an embarrassed blush striking across his face; he was better than this. Even if he couldn't succeed at any of his old goals, even if he was just gonna – if it was fine to run off with her...  
  
She scampered into the distance, quickly and silently, and though he _wanted_ to shout out some kind of plea for her to stay, his voice felt heavy and sluggish within his throat; as if he'd swallowed down some kind of sludge, the plant-like slurry they'd seen before, perhaps...  
  
He shut his eyes, and fell to his knees, and rocked back and forth; trying to imagine some inner reserve of energy he could draw from.  
  
But it had hit him, in an exhausted finality.  
  
He was _tired.  
  
_ Tired of walking for hours, and eating canned food, or dried food, or no food at all; of not needing to eat, but feeling hungry all the time. Of fighting. Of pain. Of – of –  
  
“Gerald.”  
  
One after the other, his eyes opened, wearily.

She swam into view slowly, knelt over her folded knees; and he suppressed a laugh at his own minor twinge of jealousy that she was still taller than he was.  
  
But the burnt sienna of her skin seemed a lighter shade, her mouth was closed, and the dark oceans of her eyes would not leave him.  
She held out her hand to his, and he reached out reflexively.  
  
In her open palm was –   
  
“What is this? A, a jellyfish?”  
  
“No. Not quite the same. It's more like a stone. When you strike it though, the light inside blinks.”  
  
Patiently, she took his hand in hers, and he clung to the smoothness of it, searching for the hidden features where her carapace had become worn, or softer still.  
Little things he'd only just began to notice, and treasure, too.  
  
The transparent, light-grey stone sizzled with light as their fingers brought it against the ground, before shattering into several opalescent shards.  
In spite of himself, he smiled.  
  
“Aha!”  
  
She sounded incredibly proud of herself, and he had the lingering suspicion that maybe something similar was done for the young on Deimos; but it didn't really matter, because it seemed almost as likely that she'd done it as much for herself as for him.  
  
“Well, I won't lie – it looked nice. Do you use them for anything?”  
  
“Hmn. Yes! To make things pretty, mostly.”  
  
She conceded conversationally, looping her arm around his and pulling him from the ground.  
The black stone beneath their feet made little sound as they walked through the vast field, and he forced himself to keep an eye open for anything that might be of use.  
  
“There is no real need to see in the dark. For most of us. Either the deep fires are good enough light. Or! One can see in the dark themselves. Some do not even possesses eyes.”  
  
“You know, there are blind people on – back home, too. Were, at least. So that's familiar to me, but, you just use those to light your front porches up? Get out of town!”  
  
“No. This is not my town, and I'm not leaving it...”  
  
Hyphen struck her teeth against one another, indicating that the matter was not open to discussion.  
Perhaps she had been fond of using stones to decorate whatever slice of Deimos she called her own, and –  
  
 _Once, he'd seen a house; the house had used... There'd been tiles, metal and painted, that shone in so many bright colors. The sun was bright, and hot. Other people had been there. Had he been young, old?  
And the memory was ruined and twisted, but perhaps not in the worst way, and he could almost imagine the broken shards of electric stone, leading to a vent in the soil where Hyphen dwelled, and the vision brought him hope.  
  
_“Sorry, wasn't trying to imply that your decorating skills were anything but the best, miss.”  
  
“Oh. Oh?”  
  
Hyphen chittered over herself, not expecting that – it was clear from the way her eyes were all blinking at different times that she hadn't expected an about course, and was still _slightly_ determined to be cross with him.  
  
Gerald nodded somberly.  
  
“Yep. I mean, my... There's these things, some of 'em are kind of boxy, that we live in back home.”  
  
“Apartments.”  
  
She recited the word mechanically and mathematically; a learned word that held no real meaning to her – but even though it wasn't _her_ language or _her_ memory, because she knew it, she'd preserved it... And for that, Gerald felt a rush of gratitude.  
  
“That's it, thanks so much, Hyphen...!”  
  
“Well. I don't mind helping you out. Since I've humbled you.”  
  
Row after row of teeth gleamed in a white smile – and he stole a kiss while she was unguarded.  
  
“Clever. I'll pay you back for that. In time... But you can't just. Introduce a thought and walk back on it.”  
  
“Right, well, I'll be counting on the former – but, so your apartment must be pretty cute is – “  
  
He'd had quite a story lined up, even with the holes in it where memory had grown fuzzy and dwindled away like twine.  
  
The key stole away what was left of cogent thought.  
  
It hung from a single gossamer strand of silver in the air; woven there from watery dew, or perhaps steam.  
  
And it sung, quietly; that was the only word to describe it.  
A rhythmic, pulsing ancient song, and the oldest part of his soul _screamed in horror at the sound._  
  
Trembling, Gerald took one step backwards, than another – tripping over his own feet and falling back against the ground.  
In an instant, Hyphen had helped him back up, but...  
  
 _Even then, he could see the expression mirrored against her face._  
  
“Do we – should we take it...”  
  
He whispered, wishing desperately that the coin had flipped right, this once.  
  
“... I will not let... Some object... Bar my path... Now...”  
  
And her every word was forced, but that same determination that Hyphen seemed to carry with her remained undaunted – or at least feigned dauntlessness.  
  
Step by step, she crept towards the hanging key; and stole it into the clutch of her hand.  
  
The silver strand above broke, and the song went quiet.  
  
[One by one,](http://other-atmospheres.ambient-mixer.com/creepy-background-noise) the walls around them stripped down; vast superstructures of obsidian collapsing in instants, as rolling clouds of undefinable color floated peacefully overhead.  
  
And the floor, too, started to disassemble itself as if being put back in some empty box.  
  
Hyphen made an atonal scream that his ears could only just process, and he grabbed her free hand; and they fled, racing against time as the entirety of the false Deimos rendered itself null and void behind them.  
  
The climb back up was already torturous, but as he pulled himself back up the steep incline, bits of the ramp-like cliff face began to disappear, leaving empty voids behind them.  
  
Once, his fingers almost touched against the gap –  
  
An almost tangible shock had gone through him, warning him against it with every fiber of sapience he possessed.   
But deeper still, something whispered.  
  
 _Wasn't he even a little curious...  
  
_ Unthinking, Gerald rose against his legs and ran; and he knew he shouldn't have been able to run up a steep angle, but a combination of adrenaline and the altering terrain below proved unlikely allies.   
Hyphen ran at an easy cantor at his side, and though it wasn't soon enough that they were back atop the cliff, proper –  
  
They had made it, at least.  
  
His breathing wasn't good, and it struck him as fairly funny that the possibility of dying from exhaustion was as real as any of the threats they'd faced. Sweat and miasma tugged at the edge of his vision, and at some point he was aware of Hyphen leading him by the hand; though the decay behind them was slowed, if not gone entirely.  
  
Back in the chamber of glass, the lights above had switched from a blue, to a bright amber; and they shone down gently and protectingly, enough that he almost wanted to collapse under them and simply breath.  
  
They'd gotten this far, however.  
  
Steeling himself, Gerald ran against the glass – listening to the odd sound as his boots fell against panes that –  
  
Each pane shattered as they fell against it, Hyphen twisting and falling forward onto her face at the first slip-up. She turned as she fell and grabbed at other bits of glass, then his hand; and Gerald caught her quickly, somehow managing to move even as his own footings gave way behind him.  
  
No longer did she run on all fours, and it seemed luck as much as skill that brought them to the metal-like overlay, and the great expanse of lava beyond.  
  
A small slot had sprung open in the dark cyan stone; and the way he could almost feel the _greed_ of it filled him with a further dread, but...  
  
“Hyphen, hurry up. I think we don't have a choice. I mean, we could – we could risk going right, but...”  
  
It took him only a second to realize that he could _feel_ the world behind him being slowly eaten away.  
And it took him less than that to realize she _had no intention of doing so.  
  
_ “Hyphen...?”  
  
“You must trust me. This is a trap.”  
  
She whispered.  
  
In alien hands, smooth as the metal or glass they had left behind, she held an object that would allow him to live.  
  
Gerald knew in that moment what had killed other men, had driven them to madness.  
Death would find him, and soon – and there was nothing to save him, but if he just – if he...  
  
Still, Hyphen was doing nothing.   
His shoulders shook; his breath felt shallow, ragged.  
  
… Dying wouldn't be so bad, he decided.  
And he had faith.  
  
The nausea passed, and he placed his head against the edge of her chin, saying nothing.  
  
It'd been meant to show support, and nothing else, so it was uneasily that he clung to her as Hyphen jumped – clumsily, unused to such a small target, let alone with his added weight – to one of the small spires of metal, or fireproof wood, or...  
  
 _A fleshy thunk greeted her swaying feet as they landed._  
  
He inhaled, and let his mind grow blank.   
The lightlessness behind him seemed distant, now, even as it was upon them.  
  
But he chose to focus on the agility with which she rose, and fell; the warmth of her next to him, and –   
  
… His feet struck solid ground.   
  
Their feet struck solid ground.   
  
Without thinking, he embraced her in a near delirium borne of all too many emotions; love, and lust, and simple happiness at being alive; even as his eyes shattered from dead-end passage to dead-end passage...  
  
One, however, remained open; though shielded by a large, mesh-iron gate.  
A gate, that had not opened, because _they had not unlocked the gate mechanism from before._  
  
He knelt against the wall, and wept.  
  
From between her hands – the key shone silver, and where it shone, and sung – the wall flickered with a maze of colors.

The two of them, man and demon, pursued them as if drawn; and perhaps they were.  
  
A separate keyhole, all but hidden, snapped greedily shut – and a flickering field of starlight beckoned to them once more.  
  
Hand in hand, the two stepped between the stars – as the world died, behind them, yet again.


	32. E4M8 - Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Across the seas of darkness,   
> The good green Earth is bright,  
> Oh, Star that was my homeland:  
> Shine down on me tonight.   
> ~

[A long time ago, there had been life here.](http://science-fiction.ambient-mixer.com/killing-time)

The dying corpses of mechanical beasts littered the roadside; their rubberized limbs punctured and bleeding air.   
Occasionally, the wind would welcome their dying whispers, playing carefully through the open windows and bleached exteriors – now bearing so many holes.  
  
Cement underfoot had open and grown cracked, and the tiniest of green shoots pried their way through the ground; edging greedily towards the sun, bloated and red in the sky above.  
  
It should have been a smothering heat, but it suited Hyphen just fine.  
  
Behind their backs she could feel the stars whispering a farewell – the escape from moments before as quickly consigned to memory as any other moment in her life.  
  
And perhaps that felt wrong, but, she had no time for her own concerns.  
  
Loose murmurs of wind shook grey dust from the ground, and Hyphen held Gerald, quietly.  
  
His face was so haggard. Not that she knew how much that meant for him, for his people.

But the life had drained out of him in an instant, stolen away by the wind and the emptiness and the red; and as he fell down towards the ruined concrete, she was surprised by how much heavier he felt.  
  
Perhaps he didn't care if he struck it.  
  
“Let me be for a moment, please. Just awhile, Hyphen.”  
  
“You know. It. It isn't real. And.”  
  
“Just for a moment. I'm all right.”  
  
The alien softness of his hair rustled and danced in the breeze.  
His face contorted into something that she might call a smile, if she were feeling charitable.

And he lay sideways against the concrete, smiling past her, and would not say anything else.  
  
… She would not leave, of course. Not now. But at the same time – if there were anyone who could understand what he felt, perhaps...  
  
And so Hyphen kept within sight of him, scampering around the burnt-out roads and the shadow of great buildings.  
Some were made of glass, and others were made of steel, and others were made of things she could not place, though she suspected they were common elements on –   
  
The great colossi were all at strange angles. It was likely that none of them should have been standing, she felt, and that only willpower or luck had kept them in place. But of course, both of those were subordinate to the whims of Elsewhere.  
  
Meaning that Elsewhere had saved this for him.

Her eyes darted back to Gerald, in tandem; he hadn't moved.  
And he wasn't shaking, or crying, or showing any signs of emotion at all.

…  
  
She was curious, of course.   
The broken shards of glass that had served as windows were a uniquely human idea; structurally unsound and dangerous as they were.   
It felt as if they had been broken not by the forces that had ravaged this place, but by attempts to escape;  
  
And though there were no bones nor corpses here, she could just as easily imagine the tiny figures of humans, jumping from above as it became clear that there was no hope.  
  
… One by one, she let her spikes fall free, and strut back and forth. Quietly, attempting to remain dispassionate.   
But she could not say how she would've reacted, before she had come to Elsewhere; and could not say how she truly felt – even now.  
  
Though she wished to keen, in mourning, it felt as if it might disrespect the dead, or him; and she did not know and could not say and locked it away, in silence.  
  
Where trees had grown tall and free, they'd also had their bark seared away, much like a crecheling without any kind of shell to protect them. Weak, vulnerable, and weirdly scarred by warmth and other things.  
  
Perhaps there'd been an atmosphere here, once.  
  
“Hyphen.”  
  
Gerald's call to her was weak, but less so than it had been before.   
She skittered low to the ground, on all fours, and dashed over to where he'd clumsily pulled himself up, sitting cross-legged across the wasted roadways.  
  
“Are you. All right...”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
He answered – and then it finally happened.  
  
Shadows that had started to grow under his eyes crept across the unknowable blue of their irises; painted over in layers of grey. His smile turned to a frown to a smile again, and despite the fact he was not crying at all, it was very clear that he was.  
  
Lips made odd shapes that did not accompany sounds, and his shoulders began to shake, and even when she held him _he felt so much lighter than he had, mere minutes ago –_  
  
“No. No I'm not all right. God, no... There's – I don't... I can't...!”  
  
And he sunk against her chest, and the discomfort of his tears stung against her chitin, but she said nothing at all.  
He was still smiling, for some reason, and Hyphen felt that he had no idea why, either.  
  
“It's all an illusion, right? A bad dream.”  
  
“Perhaps so. Do you want to wake up soon...”  
  
“Yeah. I want to wake up and see my family again. I want to remember their names, I want to remember earth. I don't want to know it's all, all pointless, Hyphen.”  
  
“It isn't. It isn't! You've done so much. Come so far, we've come so far...”  
  
“But I don't wanna forget you, either! I don't want to leave here and it's killing me knowing that, more then anything else. How can I care less about that than the other people we've met here, than the people I've left behind? What's wrong with me?!...”  
  
“Nothing is wrong with you.”  
  
She cooed softly, whispering through her teeth, and he stopped shaking, slowly.  
  
His hair rustled against her skin as he tilted his eyes, bloodshot and heavy, to stare up at her.  
  
No longer was he smiling.  
  
“That's not true.”  
  
Gerald whispered, and it was stolen away by the laughing wind.  
  
“... I don't think I can go any further, Hyphen. It was easier when we were being lead on. At least there was some kind of hope, I guess. I give up.”  
  
She said nothing in reply, simply stroking his hair.   
… It was strange. She hoped the gesture did not feel patronizing to him, and she worried that she needed it more than he did. That her concerns would be noticed, and he would feel she was attempting to distract from his and yet.   
  
Hyphen did not know what to say. Or do. If there was anything that could be said or done at all.  
For no matter what she did, what she said, where they went – Elsewhere could continue on until all the lights in the sky ran out, and who would possibly care?  
  
For all she know, the rest of her expedition had gone defunct, and any who had fled had retreated to their isolation and projects, waiting for the skittering of metal scraping sounds to call them to some new cause...  
  
 _Ah.  
  
_ “... I care for you.”  
  
“Hyphen – I know that. It's the only thing that's kept me going, with the rest of us. I can remember that, at least.”  
  
“No. Nono. I cannot let you give up, now. I won't.”  
  
She muttered in a challenge to the beautiful desolation around them, which did not reply.   
But he was still light, and compliant, as they both rose from the ground – and worked with her as opposed to against her, even though his skin felt so terrifyingly ghoulish and cold –   
  
“I am very scared too. Gerald.”  
  
“What of? Can't you – if I stay here, could you try to leave?”  
  
That, at least, elicited a strong laugh. **Compression** was not a knife to be applied to the open void. Not even the most talented would – something so silly...  
  
“Sorry, guess that was a stupid question. Even though you can, though – thanks. For staying with me so far.”  
  
…  
  
“No! Of course I can't!”  
  
Punctuated with her laughter, she tried to explain that what she'd meant was that _even if she could_ she would have stayed, but the idea of her being able to simply leave was so funny that all she could manufacture was humor.  
  
Thankfully, the blush against his pale flesh indicated that he _understood_.  
  
A smile and a sigh fled in unison, and he brushed his fingers against his brow. It was an unusual gesture, so she copied it; just for the smile to return, a little bit.  
  
She liked the way it lingered, even knowing it was transitory, and soon defunct.  
  
“... Okay. All right. Hyphen, I've got – nothing. No clue at all about what I'm supposed to be doing here. If Elsewhere is some kind of stress test that's out to see how much it takes to get humans to give up, it's won.”  
  
“We could explore one of those buildings, perhaps.”  
  
Her nervous chatter was a good hint that she just wanted to – but Gerald shrugged, a gleam returning to his eyes.  
  
“Guess it can't hurt, can it? Just – be patient with me. I don't think I can run, right now. I feel incredibly – tired.”  
  
She understood that, at least.  
  
Unlike the fake otherness that proceeded all environments in Elsewhere, these felt almost as if they'd been properly made, or even lifted from somewhere – _his world_ , she reminded herself.  
  
The entranceway, dusted with glass and dirt and strange-smelling stains, was guarded by a swinging turnstile of glass and synthetic material that looked as if it would've been a fun amusement for the very young.  
  
… Gerald wheeled it around with his hands idly, and perhaps humans felt much the same.  
In that at least, they were similar; which made her quite happy, indeed.  
  
And there were desks and tables and things, cluttered nicely everywhere in a chaos of motion that had hinted more to her theory. Perhaps people had tried to leave and been unable to.  
  
The air was thick with dust and powder, and as annoying as it made her breathing, it was worse for Gerald, who stopped every few moments to sneeze.  
Despite that, the desks themselves were strangely uncluttered. She had expected papers, hints of some kind of activity or study, but – here, the familiar lack of detail in Elsewhere manifested.  
  
…  
  
Gerald had began to tap his fingers against one of the desks, a tiny isle in a sea of cubicles and sealed rooms, clones of one another with no distinguishing marks left to remain.  
  
“Hey, Hyphen. I – I think I've got an idea.”  
  
She had never felt so happy just to see his fire return from his deeps; but of course, there was no reason to show too much of that good cheer, because he was clearly still deep in thought. So she paced around him, and tried to show more interest in the flowers that should have been wilted without rains then she truly was, and...  
  
“All right. Come with me. This could be absolutely stupid, but, well, that's me.”  
  
His grin was quick and carefree as it might be, and she walked at his side with a slight stoop, so that it seemed they might be strolling through the debris in tandem...  
  
Even though her heelspikes had speared several of the larger chunks of glass, and she carelessly shook them off before they'd left.  
  
But it wasn't a long journey, for Gerald soon stopped in front of a strange wreck, one of the ones with the very unusual skin.   
Unlike the loving fusion of organic and material, it was all solid and dead.  
  
No living components here; so very cold, Hyphen decided, not that she was judging it; humans seemed to make all their technology from cold things, perhaps because they distrusted warmth; or perhaps for any other reason.  
  
One day, she would find out for herself.  
  
She tightened her fists like she'd seen him do, but Gerald was too busy puttering around with the dead creature to care.   
_Dead machine,_ she corrected herself, for it wasn't truly alive.   
  
“Uh, can you try kicking the hood...”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Hyphen asked with blunt amusement, and Gerald's eyebrow rose in unison. His craggy beard tugged at the edge of his smile like a counterweight, and he shrugged up into the air.  
  
“Somehow, I felt that'd be one of those things that crossed cultures pretty easy.”  
  
Tentatively, she kicked what she assumed was it's hood; but even though Gerald had opened his mouth to criticize her, there was a strange and wheezing thrum of life.  
  
“Ah? Er?! Oh...”  
  
Hyphen chittered all at once, stumbling backwards with her armspikes out and glad for the support of another one of the machines, far less alive then the one in front of them. Gerald was cheering quietly as he helped her up.  
  
“Way to go, captain! Not that I'm sure what you did, but this is the second one you've saved. Congrats.”  
  
“Yes. Thank you...”  
  
She responded, not entirely sure if she was feeling happy about _this_ particular save.  
  
He held open the entrance to it, similarly bleached of color and disquieted by rust. She had to make sure that she was quite hunched and all of her spikes were retracted; it was an uncomfortable fit, to be sure, but the inside smelled of something bizarre, alien, and plush.  
  
It was unfamiliar, and she didn't know if she _liked_ it, but the knew was fascinating all the same.  
  
“Nothing really told me I'd be exploring the end in an SUV. I don't think this, uh, simulacrum is complete. It's still a – an imitation, at best. If it wasn't, I'd try to find us some place to eat, maybe see if there weren't places we could explore, but...”  
  
Gerald had looped around to the other side, and fiddled with something against the wheel. The – SUV, these were called – had many nobs and buttons and too many of them at that.  
  
(It was another points against human **engineering.** She decided it was neither **dynamic** or **static** and that it was entirely about overcomplicating things with many false choices. And that also it would've been simpler to state commands, and have the SUV listen.)  
  
“When I was going to college, I spent a lot of time making these tapes.”  
  
“Tapes...?”  
  
“Recordings. Human culture produces a lot of music. Uh, it was a bit... I don't wanna say pretentious of me, because I liked it the time, but I spent too much of my time doing it. Is there any word for that – “  
  
Grinning from all her teeth, she spat out the appropriate term, and he stared crossly at her.   
  
“No, I don't think I'm gonna be able to manage that, Hyphen. Sorry. Anyway! Where was I... Uh, could you be an awesome navigator and let me know if there's anything behind me...”  
  
Popping the last bits of glass from her side of the SUV (was that the term for all of them? Cars, automobiles... They seemed to mean the same thing. She would ask for clarification later – ), and stared.   
  
The distance was full of dead machine corpses, and the roads – when they remained – were full of pitfalls and cracks. Occasionally, she chittered warnings to him as he continued –  
  
But it was strange.  
  
The act of driving seemed to have calmed him greatly.   
Maybe it was something that humans did for pleasure, on earth; perhaps even if he could not remember the specifics of memories, the feel of it was enough.  
  
“... And, y'know, I kind of wish I had some music to share with you. Don't know what you'd care for. Is there lots of music on Deimos?”  
  
“Yesyes. Field recordings, for personal use. Industry, commercial industry, like your words have is...”  
  
She struggled. It was not as if the concept was _alien_ , but explaining the intricacies of how society was more isolated until they were forced to work for an issue or tempted by the promise of some temporal power was...  
  
“Hey, no worries. I just kind of would like to find out what you like.”  
  
And he rattled off names that held no meaning to her, composed of seemingly random words and syllables. Many of them _sounded_ very impressive, but she had a sneaking suspicion that they were designed for that, and it was little indicator of their quality.  
  
Beyond them, the roads opened up and the city itself began to fade.  
No longer were the pavings cracked or desolate; in fact, it was almost as if they'd been less wounded here, which made no sense.  
  
… It was definitely another construct, she decided – hoping that as stripped-bark trees shadowed the dying sun above them, he knew what she was thinking.  
  
“Calming things. That allow me to think. Mmn, but; I'm curious. I shall try everything you've mentioned, though you will have to subjugate your desires to mine..!”  
  
His snickering was a good reply, and she liked it.  
Liked the breeze that the car made or accentuated as it blew in from the open windows; it felt almost raw against her carapace, gentle.  
Strange.  
  
“I'll listen to whatever you've got, but I'm imagining it's all like – like whalesong for some reason...”  
  
Dark shadows had began to rise over them; cast from the hanging branches above like a net.  
  
He seemed so peaceful now; and she wondered if, without any greater purpose, he might be content to simply drive for as long as the roads continued.  
  
“Do you. Mind if I try..?”  
  
“Uh? Go and knock yourself out. We can go slow for a bit; it's not really hard, but it might be...”  
  
Gerald continued to grapple for words as they switched seats somewhat awkwardly. And she grew covetous of him, fumbling over her, but said nothing; she felt she did not need to, for the avarice in her eyes –  
  
Driving, however, was strange.  
  
He was right that it wasn't difficult exactly, but it required a great deal of focus that he drowned out with his chatter – and she guiltily fathomed she _might_ have been doing, herself.  
Clearly that became less of a concern the more you became skilled with it, of course.  
  
But it was at once very peaceful – and it wasn't truly for her, not yet, but she could imagine driving down such an empty place as this, sometime.  
  
If they made it back to a world.  
  
His, or hers.  
  
She did not care which, truly.  
  
“Are the breezes like this on earth, too...”  
  
The words tumbled from her teeth, and Gerald – who had been sticking his hand out the window idly, – placed his entire head out; the wind blew his hair around, and she tried to avoid laughing.   
It was too much, however, and he whipped his face back again, feigning discontent.  
  
“Hey, don't make me get out and walk, miss.”  
  
“Oh, no! I would. Dread that.”  
  
“Well – you should. But uh, yeah. This all feels real. Terribly real, I mean. Like, the breezes here are more normal feeling than the, uh... I guess the canned air in Elsewhere.”  
  
The blue of his eyes trailed up to the weirdly fuzzy ceiling, and she wondered why the SUV had fur or something like it against its top. Armor? Or some more sinister purpose?  
  
His fingers traced against it, and some of the grey fluff fell down around them, clinging to the surface of the seats.  
  
“At the end of the day, it feels real enough to make my heart hurt, and I suppose that's the goal. Wind carries stuff; it buoys birds, real ones, spreads seeds and cotton, pollen, dander...”  
  
His tone became a little harsher at the latter – perhaps those were less pleasant things, but all were necessary in an ecosystem.   
Surely humans knew that as well; but she imagined it was a more personal reaction, in his case – and began to laugh so brashly that she had to stop driving, for fear of the drift.  
  
“All right, that's enough. I'm taking over.”  
  
“Noooooo!”  
  
“Yes. Get back in the seat there. You can pout if you want to, but I'm afraid this is an executive order.”  
  
“But I'm the captain...”  
  
Hyphen whined from under her lower teeth; the rows grating against one another. It was carefully crafted to be as petulant as possible; but it seemed there was no way Gerald was going to capitulate.  
With a long-suffering sigh, they changed seats again, Hyphen folding her arms against her chest and staring at the window.  
  
… It was hard to affect anger for too long, however.  
  
This was – strangely – calming.  
  
“Do you ever wonder if maybe it wants us to be happy, but just doesn't understand what that means?”  
  
The trees were starting to give away now, and beyond their tightly packed and yet spartan branches, the open fields above revealed even more well-maintained roadways...  
  
Beyond which everything opened up, a sea of brown grass, withered yet alive.  
  
“It's possible. I do not like the idea, however. Explain, than, the violence, and death.”  
  
“Mmn, but they're part of life, right? And if Elsewhere is some – there was a book where the entire planet was sentient, or something like that, and maybe Elsewhere is a dimension of semi-intelligence and it just... Doesn't get us.”  
  
“Reaching.”  
  
Hyphen whispered through a smile.

… The smile fell, a bit, her mouth shut.  
  
“Consider, then. If Elsewhere is sentient and! If we are being led on. Maybe... That is more reason than any other to distrust it. Often we disassemble things to learn from them.”  
  
“Oh! Humans do that, too!”  
  
… Her black eyes bore into his, and Gerald rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly.  
  
“Okay, well, that is probably not as uncommon as I'd imagine. But – where are you going with this, Hyphen?”  
  
“... I cannot say. I do not like it though. Even if we are not resources to be taken apart and learned from. It feels amateurish. Childlike.”  
  
Both of them grew silent, and she felt a distance.  
It was not unpleasant. To know someone else and feel comfortable in your own mind, while being so physically close – hmn.  
  
Yes, she felt the opposite of glumness about it.  
  
And it was nice to share that silence and listen to the wind. And –  
  
The wavering brown grass blew in a fierce gust that caused the rattling SUV to quiver around them. It was in no danger, but the effect was strange and magical, and her mouth opened – teeth at all angles in surprise.  
  
… It was strange, and beautiful.  
  
Beyond them, the road came to an abrupt end; consumed by an open pit in the earth.  
  
It was welled up and looked like a quarry, the kind that the weakest and most apathetic would toil in for the cruelty of others or their own ennui. So she instinctively felt worry, yes, but also...  
  
“Do you think that's it then? I can't imagine that Elsewhere brought us here to show me something like this, only to throw us into another pit, or a trap, or – “  
  
“That is it. But I do not think... This is a trap.”  
  
Hyphen whispered, and went still.  
  
Gerald parked the car, which was a simple and yet highly ritualistic endeavor. He then did the strangest thing; re-parking it as if the first time was not 'proper.'   
And perhaps this was part of the way he honored his god, but Hyphen was unsure of her best guess, there.  
  
Outside, the refreshing wind howled and dissipated near the edges of the pit, fading to something interspersed with strange, anticipatory noises – old and primal.  
  
Her spikes eased free, subconsciously.  
  
“... The last rune is in there. Or nearby. There are four, I think, right; I can feel mine... It's happy.”  
  
Gerald shut his eyes, and said nothing.  
  
“Whatever is there, then, we'll finish it. And maybe that will be all we need to go home.”  
  
And his eyes opened lazily, and his eyelashes were as bizarre and captivating as the hair against his head and his chest and his arms; and it looked as if his eyes were downcast, but the warring white and blue were still so difficult for her to read.  
  
But he smiled, slowly – and it was a gentle smile as he kissed her hand.  
  
“Yeah. **Home.** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Green Hills of Earth, accredited to C.L. Moore, with regards and further accreditation to Kuttner and Heinlein.


	33. E4M6 - Rotten Passageways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  If you expect me to surrender, you have learned nothing.
> 
> Neither bitterness nor hopelessness can stand to me;
> 
> But you know this.
> 
> … Perhaps, in another life, we shall meet again.  
> ~

[Several signs, warning of danger, hung from roots above.  
  
](http://ambient-music.ambient-mixer.com/on-the-wings-of-death)None of them had any writing, only strange and amateurish drawings, or perhaps imitations of drawings. Occasionally they shook with the walls and jostled free bits of stone and dirt, while around them the glow of electric yellow lights shook, merrily.  
  
Gerald clenched his teeth and whistled, sharply.  
  
In front of them, the path split, and split, and split again.  
  
“Do you think it's a maze, or that it matters which path we take?”  
  
From beyond the passageways, they could hear sound – a mixture of sounds. The rustle of stone, the shaking breeze, and occasionally things that almost sounded human...  
  
But he'd learned enough to know that outside of Marianne, and perhaps Masterson, there were no other humans, here.  
  
… _Were there_...?  
  
“Do not worry. Gerald! I have a plan for this.”  
  
“Oh? I hope it's not trying to drive the car down into a quarry – “  
  
“No! Nonono! Why would I. How would we even?”  
  
The heels of her spikes kicked up dirt behind her as Hyphen walked, drawing close to each and every passageway but navigating down none of them.  
She made a strange chittering sound to herself, perhaps murmuring in her own tongue, before finally returning to his side.  
  
“You can tell. Can't you?”  
  
 _His skin itched.  
  
_ Of course he could; the feel of it was as clear as day. The rune he'd held whispered excitedly of how close they were, to whatever the runes wanted, to whatever he now felt he needed, and yet that was not all it whispered of...  
  
“Look, Hyphen, just because I've got a feeling doesn't mean – uh, wait, how did you?”  
  
“Mmn. I can hear a lot of things. Your heartbeat right now. Is very...”  
  
“You were listening to my heartbeat?”  
  
She opened her mouth, and falling rocks drowned out whatever she'd planned to say – but Gerald imagined that worked out just fine for her, given the darkening umber of her face.  
  
“Do not mind that. What I am saying is! I don't think we should care, or even focus. On all of this. Just go, and try not to...”  
  
“I hear you. I guess I'll take point – “  
  
He felt unusually brave.   
Despite the dim yellow being the only real light down here – and a worrying feeling that –  
  
“Oh! Hyphen, whatever we do, no matter how dark it gets, don't light the place up.”  
  
She curled her face into an incredibly broad smile.  
  
“You do realize. Flammable substances and fumes were present on Deimos. As well.”  
  
“Well, I didn't want to take chances.”  
  
His own smile mirrored hers, before fading away in the fading light around them.  
  
“Besides, in places like this – I've always found it easy to lose track of yourself. Get jump without thinking about it. Whenever you're walking through a maze like this, it's like entering somebody's house...”  
  
“Then they should welcome us instead of being so enigmatic.”  
  
And though Hyphen's muttering was somewhat venomous...   
He had to agree.  
  
Beyond them, the cavern tunnel opened up to another one of the reflecting pools that they'd seen before; though this one was clearly shallow, and only served to reach up to the ankles before you passed it on by.  
None of the lights were in this room, and it glistened with a soft blue phosphorescence.  
  
Gerald had planned to simply walk through or around it.  
  
That had been the plan, as something small and grey and glistening pried itself from the stagnant water and dribbled over the shore.  
  
It was almost perfectly spherical, except for where it oozed around the edges; and whenever it seemed to notice that it was oozing, it shook and re-contorted into an almost-perfect shape.  
And the tiny sphere seemed to pause, no eyes to see them, and no mouth to speak.  
  
Yet...  
  
Ecstatically, it pulsated and turned a tumescent green, hopping towards them as it emitted some kind of guttural sound, like a stone stuck in the craw of a bird. Despite the fact that it was no larger then a rubber ball, it stung as it struck against his leg.  
  
Without thinking, Gerald punted it back; it nearly flew across the room, seemingly undamaged...   
Or undaunted, as it eagerly began to bound towards them again.  
  
From the pool, multiple imitations of it slowly appeared each warbling in unison.  
  
The hail of sludgy messes continued as they ran forward; the tiny creatures or automatons falling from walls and the ceiling, from roots and from bones; at one point there must have been two hundred or more behind them, but Gerald dared not look back, for fear that they'd got stuck in his eyes, or his throat, or –  
  
But Hyphen ran close to the ground, and he ran beside her, through tunnels that smelled of stale dust and dried powder, and he forgot to look where he was going; and the tunnels began to blend together, all alike.  
  
The wall and floor gave out all at once, both human and demon tumbling downward as a mess of humming objects paused above them, seemingly staring at their descending figures.  
  
Although the slime broke their fall, it smelled horrifyingly sweet.  
Barely decomposed plants – the same ones that had been flourishing on decay themselves, in the sewers before – were being eaten away by the slow and acidic ravages of time.  
  
Limbs, too, drifted underneath, but what they had once belonged to was nobody's to say.  
  
…  
  
“Hyphen!”  
  
Gerald threw himself under the sludge, ignoring how it oozed all too easily into his open eyes and coated over them like an artificial glaucoma.  
  
He couldn't see her anywhere, and the weight of the muck felt as if it'd keep him down, unbreathing, until he started to drift apart, piece by piece, as well...  
  
Something above him burbled, and he forced himself back above the slurry; Hyphen had leapt to a wall, and was clinging to it, occasionally respiking herself against it as bits of the wall crumbled into the pit he was in.  
  
… It must have looked ridiculous for him to smile covered in the foul stuff, but...  
  
“Whew. Don't scare me like that, captain. You okay?”  
  
“Are you! Are – “  
  
“Fine, this stuff is just annoying.”  
  
He answered a bit too quickly, because while it was disgusting, that wasn't the only thing that worried him. It definitely wasn't a good idea to stick around here and see just what the effects of the decay tank were on the long term...  
  
A long passageway led to the north, and to the south.  
It shone with a beckoning light the color of soft gold.  
  
“You just stick to the wall, there, I'll pry through this stuff, and we might as well go south. I don't have a coin to flip right now, but... I'll just label this one an executive decision.”  
  
“... Please do not linger there, Gerald...”  
  
“I promise the moment there's a sidewalk or something, I'll pull myself onto it.”  
  
But of course, this was designed to catch and putrefy whatever fell in it.  
He had no expectations that there was going to be an easy exit form this kind of trap.  
  
Oddly, the walls of the little tunnel, though coated with desperately flung slime from things that had fallen into this antechamber before, seemed to be made of grey granite, the kind he'd seen before, somewhere.  
  
Gerald's fingers tapped against the walls, trying to drum up a recollection that would not come.  
Hyphen seized his fingers, and he decided not to let the worry consume him – but to keep walking, one foot in front of the other, slowed with every step by the muck clinging tenaciously to his legs.  
  
The rise of the ramp beneath them both by surprise, Hyphen nearly lurching from the wall as he tripped forward; but they'd both developed decent reflexes – which, he admitted, she'd already had, mostly – and caught themselves before it was too late.  
And the ramp rose, and led them into a beautiful building; it was as wide and open as a cathedral, held the somber dignity of a museum, and felt as if it should be showcasing some kind of alien art;  
  
For as he shook the last of the desperate sludge from his boots, Gerald could see the great podiums and pedestals rising around them, barren save for what were small fragments of things; bits of stone, half a flower bulb, chopped and minced pieces of the roots they'd passed by.  
  
… And the chamber was central to whatever this place was, and they could almost perfectly hear the strange, humanly inhuman cries, coming from every direction – all at once.  
  
“Lovely place, is it not? But of course, it would be such a place where we met once again.”  
  
Marianne placed the the cat's skull back where she'd been staring into it's empty sockets.  
  
It fit reverently onto its pedestal, perfectly designed for it...   
And nothing else.  
  
“You know, I prefer to have something to kill; this place, so empty... They've finally figure out how to punish us. Myself, at least. You, Gerald, are more difficult to break, I'm sure.”  
  
She wore no helmet, and her hair was now just short; not freshly cropped.  
The eyeblack underneath her chestnut eyes only served to exaggerate how wan and exhausted she looked...  
  
But despite her words, the zealous confidence of her smile, stretched so thin, did not seem broken.  
  
“Glad to see you're okay, Marianne. Uh, I'm assuming – “  
  
“This place sung out to me. How awful that we're so close to this final little piece of obsidian, or what all is like it, and I still have no clue the plan of them...”  
  
“Well. It's probably natural to assume... They simply want us to gather them.”  
  
Hyphen began, having sunk into the easy half-slouch that made her height look almost human.  
It was unusual, Gerald thought, but if she could adapt readily enough to this – to someone who had once – then was it so impossible to imagine she could visit the...  
  
Snapping his fingers irritably, he tried to remember the name.  
  
But she could visit it. She could adapt.  
  
“Hmm, so it is possible. But what then, to what purpose? Imagine if you will, that they're a beacon for some final force out to kill the last of us. Something even worse than you, Hyphen.”  
  
Gerald wanted to say something, but the affection was quite clear in Marianne's voice, and Hyphen purred with a quiet pride.  
  
“Truly! That sounds awful. But we do not _know_ if that is the case. All of this is conjecture. And. If I may be so bold. Now that we have come so far...”  
  
Past the hundreds of pedestals and displays, a vast archway led to an empty cafeteria, or something that looked as if it had once been a cafeteria.   
Table after table was empty and unadorned, while a featureless fan above did not spin – and yet there was still a quiet, softly shifting breeze.  
  
“... Is it possible. Could it be that the runes are not. Telling the truth...”  
  
“Well, sure.”  
  
Gerald quickly answered.   
There was no reason to take some alien artifact from an unknown world at its word.  
  
“But, y'know, they've saved me, and Mann – Marianne, and maybe even Masterson. It might be for an entirely selfish reason – or an automated reason if they're, uh, like drones, or something...”  
  
“I am more concerned about where they lead us. There is an end to this place, I can feel it my bones.”  
  
“You know.”  
  
Hyphen chittered, gently but somewhat bemusedly.  
  
“Feelings are not. Evidence.”  
  
To his surprise, Marianne laughed – resting against one of the empty grey chairs, kicking her feet up against the spartan grey table, and watching the shapeless grey fan above with an easy smile.  
  
“But of course, dear Hyphen. I am simply one of those wretched people who believes that they can believe things into being. It is a common little fallacy for humans. We like it, all the same.”  
  
Five of Hyphen's eyes shot over to him, curiously; but what was the harm in wasting time?  
Shrugging, he pulled up a chair at the table, and she cheerfully pulled one from another table, using the second as a somewhat hackneyed divan.  
  
“Well! There is no harm in wanting something. But! The closer we get, the more I feel we must try to avoid falling into traps – “  
  
“She's got a real good sense for those.”  
  
“I do! But that's beside the point. The point is that. Desire is...”  
  
And the air grew silent, three separate people retreating to three separate thoughts.  
Gerald could only guess as it his own, and knew that in the moment, what frightened him most was reaching that end – Elsewhere had consumed his life to the point that...  
  
“Well. Hyphen, little Hyphen...”  
  
(Hyphen took some mild offense to this, quietly grinding her teeth and murmuring that she was the tallest present. Marianne either did not notice, or did not care; though he recalled the diminutive being used affectionately... Over the sea, wherever that was.)  
  
“Imagine for a second that our desires rule over us. You could make the argument that this whole place, Elsewhere, it is built off desire. You know, that was a theory they had. That it was, hmn... The shape of all the things humanity wanted, but could not vocalize.”  
  
“Humans?! Wanted to be chased around by alien creatures and cut and stabbed and shot?!”  
  
Long legs kicked the divan back, and Hyphen shot Marianne an incredibly disbelieving stare.  
  
“No, haha – not so much. More... Ah, there is a darkness to us. Perhaps. It was all so much wordplay and attempt to rationalize what we did not understand. I do not think it is the right answer, anyway.”  
  
“We just saw it as another place. To explore and... Take from.”  
  
It was the first time he'd heard Hyphen so much as admit that her role – in whatever scientific standards the denizens of Deimos used – was as much a scavenger as anything else.  
… The motionless grey of the fan seemed to move, if you stared at it long enough.  
  
“I do not think. That this place was created or impacted, by humanity. But I don't know what it was designed for. Either...”  
  
“Maybe there is no point to it; if the world can throw together enough light to draw us out of the swamp, perhaps, too, it can find a mirthful chaos in making some place like Elsewhere.”  
  
Three sets of eyes stared up at the ceiling fan, and the silence grew smothering.  
  
“Well. I do not see any reason to loiter with the two of you. The battle still calls to me. I feel as if we are reaching towards it; and when my fingers find it's throat, maybe we shall choke each other to death.”  
  
Marianne rose stiffly, and ran her fingers through her hair.  
  
Her smile was pleasant, having seen nothing disturbing in what she'd just said.  
  
“Fate willing, we shall meet again soon, before the end. Dear Hyphen, and Gerald; I wish you quite well. But wishes are fragile things, so...”  
  
She held out her hand, and Gerald shook it automatically. It was strange how stiff her touch was, but then again; they were all tired, here.  
Then she embraced him, and embraced Hyphen; and she seemed very distant, and he'd wanted to ask her to stay with them –  
  
But soon, it was only the two pairs of eyes, staring up at the unmoving ceiling.  
  
“Do you think we should go, too...”  
  
Gerald finally forced himself to say, and Hyphen bristled.  
  
“I do not know. There is a. It feels...”  
  
 _We'll be all right.  
I mean, we've gotta be all right.  
  
Failing you now – now of all times, I couldn't...  
  
_His words stuck in his craw, and Gerald's will hardened.  
  
“Yeah. I know how you feel, Hyphen, but we've gotta keep moving. I sure wish there was something to eat here too, but trust me; you aren't missing much.”  
  
“Are you saying? Places like this are where you commonly ate?”  
  
“Mmn, sometimes. Occasionally, we'd... After work, uh – huh. Well, there's a thing, humans do where they go out and drink. Not too fond of it, myself, but getting a sandwich, maybe some soup... A slice of pie, or something...”  
  
He wasn't sure how long ago Marianne had left.   
A moment?   
A year?  
  
But she'd vanished down a cement-colored passageway that seemed to veer straight down, down further into the quarry and the deep and welcoming earth.  
  
Certainly, the two of them could keep going that far down but – at what point did they run into the core of something? Perhaps not 'the planet' – for what 'planet' where they even on?  
  
Yet, it _did_ feel as if they were approaching the living and beating heart of something, and he was determined not to take it lightly.  
  
“Let's follow at a distance. Maybe if we – if we walk fast, we can catch up to her. Keep an eye on her.”  
  
“I do not think Marianne will need our help. Did you see! She called me dear!”  
  
And he laughed in spite of himself; for how happy and silly Hyphen sounded, testing out the word. For some reason, he felt it was another thing, a little trait from over-the-sea; but it had been important to her, and...  
  
“You're right of course, but I don't want to fail anyone else. Not, not while there's a chance at least the three of us could make it out of here...”  
  
“.. I will take point this time. Gerald. Don't let it...”  
  
“Hey. I promise, Hyphen.”  
  
And he felt terribly lucky to not be alone, in the grey and empty cement hallway, in a facsimile of a facsimile under the earth.  
  
The hallway Marianne had exited through felt like an emergency exit; of the kind he'd read about in stories of air raids and secret tunnels; it grew more and more claustrophobic and all-consuming as they went downwards, and eventually Gerald found himself prying his hands against the wall, as if they might close in on him if he let go.  
  
Not long after that, however, he had to scrunch and fold down in on himself, for fear of becoming stuck.  
  
And he dared not look at Hyphen, only felt awful for the pained, near-whimpering clatter of her teeth as she tried to minimize herself against the darkness, only just lit up by a faint yellow light ahead of them.  
… Ahead of them?  
  
Gerald broke into a hobbling run, prying himself forward even as the walls felt like they were grabbing against his skin; bruising him even without any obvious way of doing just that.  
  
He tumbled out of the hallway and into –  
  
[Into a...  
  
](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dLZ5h_FK2H4)Before them, stretching in every direction, was a vast and beautiful plaza.  
Trees overlaid with tiny, shimmering ornaments of glass and tin and woven flowers stood guard over an ancient pool, clear and unfilled with the hungry slurry that had plagued them earlier.  
Rising up over them was a conservatory of glass, looming front of them; from it, he swore he could hear the faintest sound of piano music, being played so very faintly.  
The windows were coated with ivy, frosted and smoky to the point that it was impossible to see inside.  
  
In spite of that, he could smell freshly baking bread in the air, and the mixture of ash and smoke from a warm, comforting, natural fire – all burnt dried wood, and playful cinders.  
  
… And at his feet...  
  
Gerald knelt down, not even bothering to hide his tears.  
The small magpie looked up it him, hopping from foot to foot.  
  
It was not a facsimile or an illusion, or a feverish dream.  
And he croaked and tried to reach out to stroke it; but the bird gave a warning call, and fled away on swift wings, laughing in the manner that all birds do.  
  
He shut his eyes, and smiled.  
  
“Don't be fooled.”  
  
It took everything he had not to scream, or shout, or simply fold in on himself; of course he wanted to be fooled, just wanted to give up and accept it for what it was, not challenge or fight it or have to hurt or be hurt ever, ever again but –  
  
Slowly, and unsteadily, Gerald rose and braced himself against the smooth familiarity of her arm, letting himself fall back against her.  
Hyphen wrapped her arms around him in an off-keel and skittery embrace; and he let the feelings wash over him, with the distant sound of music.  
  
“We made it, huh?”  
  
“Perhaps. I am not certain.”  
  
“Please, can't you just tell me that we made it...”  
  
“I am sorry. I am going to carry you through this, no matter what. Even if it means saying... If I must say things that are not...”  
  
“No. I understand.”  
  
He broke free of her grasp, turned around and clutched her to him; burying his head against her neck.  
It was strange; he didn't feel fear of losing her, anymore; and yet he felt such an uncompromising fear of going forward...  
  
Around them, the trees swayed in the dancing breeze, and the chime of their ornaments made a tinkling laughter of metal and spun plant fabric, merry and sylvan.  
  
“Okay. Okay. Hoo.”  
  
The conservatory seemed to grow more and more fearsome as they approached, the great wooden doors beyond them neither the largest nor most imposing they had seen in Elsewhere; indeed, they barely rose over Hyphen.  
  
But there was an overwhelming presence about them. Something that spoke to a primal part of his soul, the part that still hesitated when the lights were turned out, the part that didn't like saying goodbye to friends in the midst of the night, or that felt a twinge of uncertainty when it couldn't remember or place a call that he'd received on his...  
  
He fumbled through oceans of memories for the words, but they no longer mattered.  
  
 _Against his flesh, and his spirit, the rune whispered.  
  
It spoke merrily of the future that was to come, and his blood raced even as he tried to armor it in cold and ice.   
  
There was solace here, and hope, and happiness. And all he had to do was find it.  
  
Find it – and claim it for himself.  
For the both of them.  
For everyone he loved.  
  
It was that simple.  
  
_“Gerald..?”  
  
“Keep an eye on me, Hyphen.”  
  
He croaked, and fought back the rune; it did not protest, for it knew that all it had to do was _wait._  
  
“Keep an eye on me, and the moment I start acting weird, do – you may have to, to, ahaha, ha...”  
  
It sounded hyperbolic, but there was something welling up inside of him, and it was esctatic with a violent happiness that he had never felt before in his life, had never wanted to feel.  
  
But Hyphen stared at him, with eight and unflappable black eyes, and their abyss would not tolerate the giddy whispers of alien worlds.  
  
“No. I refuse. Because you will not. You are not going to do anything. You regret. Because.”  
  
And she whispered, and it was in her tongue, but then again – he knew the words well enough.  
… Her hand was the only strength he needed as they stared into the opening doors beyond them.  
  
Light – beautiful light, the color of drained amber pressed through a sieve of filtered glass – cascaded down upon them, beckoning forward...  
  
And then they stepped inside, and all was swathed in the paint of an open sky.


End file.
